I Let Them Go
by SageQuill
Summary: It all began when she let them escape that night. A hypothetical/possible "What if" story on just what did happen to Cissnei after Crisis Core. Final chapter posted! "Echoes"
1. It began with a Phone Call

**After a long time out of the fan fiction world because I had no interest in writing anything for it, I present to you my break back into the fan fiction arc story. I do not own anything aside from the computer used to type this up. Wishful thinking, but still, don't own anything.**

**Bear in mind that this is a "What-if" type of story that explores a hypothetical storyline that I felt would be interesting to pursue of what might have happened to Cissnei after the events of Crisis Core. Feel free to leave a review if you have the time to let me know what you think of it. Thanks and enjoy the story!**

**Chapter One - It Began With A Phone Call**

"Tseng, I've lost the targets."

My problems began when I let them go.

Flipping my PHS closed with the all too familiar click, I return it to its usual spot upon my belt, a light tremble in my hands at the motion. A blatant lie to the one man who has the power to decide whether I live or die because of this mission. An act of treason unheard of amongst the group of people I represent by wearing this dark suit and tie. I just willingly lied to my superior officer in hopes that the two convicted felons in front of me might have a slim chance at survival out here.

I can only stare in pity at the raven-haired SOLDIER standing like a protective rottweiler between myself and the blonde-haired infantryman propped against the tree, Buster Sword drawn with its rippled blade glinting menacingly in the pale evening light of the western full moon. There is no doubt in my mind that he would not hesitate to bury that weapon into my flesh this time. This is not the same restless 'puppy' I am dealing with, but a full blooded stray attempting escape from a pack trying to murder him. He's scared, and rightfully so. With his friend to protect, he's not only fighting for himself this time.

A severe case of Mako Poisoning from the experiments. Hojo is a cruel man.

"And that's how it is." My words are soft, confident, a vain effort to tell these two that everything is going to turn out all right. I can't say for certain that I'll be able to hold the hounds at bay for long, but it will grant them _some_ time at least. How they use it though, it strictly up to them.

Zack stares at me with those honest mako eyes for several quiet seconds, as though struggling to comprehend what sin I have just committed. He knows as well as I do, that if anyone finds out, I'll be the one who dies tonight. Shinra does not take well to renegade Turks.

A cool, late summer breeze drifts in from the ocean beyond the hills, casting a gentle mist over the far shore where the lighthouse was erected years ago. The rustling boughs of the arrow-like pines sway in greeting to the light spilling across the darkened clearing every few seconds. Somewhere in the brush a cricket chirps a gentle song. If only the circumstances were better tonight, I might have found this to be a rather peaceful place of solitude, pleasant by its own right. But these are hardly pleasant circumstances.

I turn to leave the pair in peace.

"Thank you, Cissnei."

Those words herald their own sense of gratefulness. Oh, Zack. Don't make this any more painful than it already is. Just hurry up and go already. Please. A faint, forced smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I reach for the tiny silver keys in the front left pocket of my Shinra-issued blazer.

I made up my mind a long time ago, when Veld and Tseng gave me the orders for this mission, that I would do whatever it takes to ensure their safety. Tonight, I will not leave them here for the battalion of Shinra soldiers combing the countryside to find and slay. And with Cloud unable to even so much as assist Zack in walking, let alone fighting, it will only be a matter of time before the inevitable happens.

"I have a present for you."

After all, Tseng's orders had been to locate them; not necessarily kill them. Why else would he have had us place sniper rifles within convenient places to shoot at the gunheads? I'm only doing my 'job' per say.

"If you feel you can trust me," I whisper, hoping against all hope that only the crickets and that lighthouse are witnessing this exchange. "Then use it."

I press the silver keys into Zack's palm and curl his fingers around them. Hopefully, he will use some common sense and will take Cloud as far from this place as humanly possible. Somewhere where the Shinra soldiers and the Turks would never think to find them. Then again, this is Zack, the restless puppy, as Angeal once claimed him to be. Puppies never do what you want them to. But that can't stop a more experienced watchdog from trying to help them learn the value of listening to good advice when it is offered.

He nods with that impish smile of his and turns back towards the sickly looking infantryman leaning against the tree. I take the opportunity and start back up the hill. Why don't I feel guilty about any of this? Tseng's going to have my head when he finds out what I've done.

Standing there in the Nibelheim countryside, beneath the light of the full moon and the endless blanket of stars, I watch the pair speed off towards the Nibelheim - Cosmo Canyon Highway and can only sigh. If he is going where I think he will go, we will no doubt meet again. And next time, I might not be able to let him go.

"Please stay safe, Zack. Stay out of danger, for her."

Aerith misses you, Zack. You owe her a visit after these long four years. Go to her while you still can.

I take a seat upon the ridge overlooking the less-than-sandy beach, the waves slopping over the sand where our conflict occurred. Tseng will ask questions about the whereabouts of my bike and just how, I, a high level member of the Turks, managed to lose two simple targets in the gunhead-laden countryside under full moonlight. And I probably won't be able to tell a good story to save my life.

I guess I'll have plenty of time to think about this while waiting for Reno and Rude to pick me up.


	2. My First Failed Mission

**Chapter Two - My First Failed Mission**

Tseng's black fountain pen taps against the varnished surface of the desk with a stern click of warning. The way the corner of his lip turns downward ever so slightly and the twitch at the edge of his left eye against his pale skin. There is no denying it, I screwed this mission up royally.

"Cissnei."

I grasp the arms of the chair with a wince. He's using that tone again. I've heard it before with Reno, but most often after he has done something inexcusable, like toilet paper the president's office or put laxatives in Tseng's coffee. But this is no innocent prank, and I am not the lighthearted Reno.

No. This is far more serious and even unusual for someone like myself to be a part of. And if I don't give him an answer worthy of his position as the high and mighty leader of the Shinra watchdog pack, I'm going to pay dearly for it. So I choose to do what all Turks do best - I lie.

"Sir, I can explain everything." Well, not really, but it is worth a try. "I cornered the target along the path by the western lighthouse and as instructed, issued a verbal threat. The target insisted on being difficult and I was forced into combat against him. However, I underestimated my opponent and my shuriken ended up in the rock pool behind me. I was forced to retreat and-"

"You are lying to me."

My shoulders stiffen in response. Damn his Wutainese heritage and ability to read body language. He saw right through that one. Holy it feels hot in this office today. When did that happen? I turn my attention to the withering bonsai tree on his desk, hoping for a miracle to get me out of this. At this stage of the game, I'll need one.

"In the many years I have known you, Cissnei, not once have you lost your weapon in combat. If anything, that damn shuriken would follow you home before you even knew it was missing."

"There is a first for everything, Sir."

The screech of his wooden chair being pushed back and his boots clicking against the floor. I worry the fringe of my blazer with trembling fingers out of nervous habit. Here it comes.

"Not for a high level Turk like yourself there is not." His hands strike the desk, making his coffee cup rattle. He's pissed. "Now tell me what happened back there."

My amber eyes meet his obsidian ones, praying I look at least somewhat intimidating. Staring your superior in the eyes is not a pleasant experience, especially when you've managed to piss off a mild-mannered man like Tseng. It's like staring at an angrier version of Veld now, an unnerving thought to say the least.

"The targets escaped." I reply curtly. "End of story."

He closes his eyes and rubs the tiny crimson dot in the center of his forehead. I've often wondered just why that was there, but never dared to ask. It is not my place to. With a sigh, he turns his attention to a sheet of crisp white paper poking out of the corner of his '_Out_' box and places it, a bit too forceful for my liking, in front of me. The offering of the fountain pen of death shortly follows. My fingers tremble as I accept it.

"You are aware of what this is I assume." His dry words sting like the lash of a whip. I scan the first line, feeling my heart drop.

_**Detailed Explanation for an Underperformed Mission**_

I read no further and sign my name on the bottom line. There is no need for me to read their account of what I did wrong tonight. Tseng scrutinizes my signature with that look of his. Gods how I hate that look.

"I failed a mission. I cannot change that, Sir." I stand up and begin walking towards the key card activated doorway in swift retreat. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

Tseng places the mission report back into the box labeled 'out' and clears his throat. "Cissnei."

Now what does he want? To lecture me on how to be a good Turk? On actually completing missions I don't quite agree with when they involve murdering a friend even though I know the rules and all? Go ahead. I don't give a damn what you yell at me for. I did what I had to do and that's all.

"Yes, Tseng?"

"I expect a better performance from you on your next mission. Do not make me regret trusting you with this."

"You won't regret it, Sir."

"Good. Now get some rest. Tomorrow you are going to Gongaga."

Great, just like I feared. _He_ will be there. And this time, I'm not sure I will be able to get away with letting him escape.

A cup of tea would counter the bitter sting of failure and more importantly, get me as far from Tseng and that damn look of his as possible. I hurry into the corridor, strangely weary from the events of the evening.

"Whoa! Is that who I think it is leaving Tseng's office?" The sound of running boots over the linoleum floor. Oh lord. Not these two tonight.

"Shut up, Reno." I continue walking, not in the mood to deal with the red haired Turk who can slip out of trouble quicker than a greased chocobo and still smell like a rose. I fail one mission and the world ends.

"So something did happen! I knew it yo! That's fifty gil big guy." He punches Rude in the shoulder with an enthusiastic whoop of victory. Fantastic. They had bets on this. The quieter man shoves Reno away as though swatting a fly, but does not stop following.

"What do you want?" I grit my teeth and reach for my keycard. Perhaps if I catch the elevator before they do, I might be able to reach my dorm before Reno can cause any more problems.

I jump as he drapes his arm around my shoulder and leans closer with the sinister look that announces he is up to something. Great. Once Reno decides to attach himself to you, there really is no hope of escape without utter humiliation.

"Sassy tonight aren't we, Cissnei," his voice drawls mockingly. "I didn't think you had it in you yo. Pretty good to be scoring with the boss."

That's it. I've had enough of him for the night. My fist catches him in the stomach, momentarily startling him and giving me plenty of time to escape. Rude hauls the obnoxious male away with an apologetic nod.

"Brush you teeth or use some mouthwash before you ever try to get that close to me again. You smell like fish and stale whisky, Reno."

"All right," he wheezes. "So you're Tseng's woman. Got it."

I press the elevator button harder in hopes it will arrive soon. One can only take so much of Reno's antics before turning completely homicidal on him, and right now, I'm sure he's treading the fine line. The whispers drifting along the air behind me inform me that Rude is trying to explain something important to Reno, which is going in one ear and out the other, hitting the wall and falling into the wastebasket by the secretary's desk. Really. I watched it happen.

"No way." I catch a glimpse of his impish smirk returning in the elevator's doors.

"That's two hundred gil you owe me now, Rude." He trots closer once again despite Rude's warning grunt. "You didn't tell me, you, Ms. Perfectionist, actually _failed_ a mission!" He whoops and attempts to climb onto the nearest elevated surface, the secretary's desk, no doubt tipsy from hitting the whisky a little too hard. What else should I expect? He's a guy.

"Hey everyone! Have I got news for you! Guess who failed an important mission!" A burly hand muffles his words and hauls him off of the desk. With a curt nod, the quieter man eyes the arriving elevator and bids me to escape before Reno escapes once again to make the situation even worse, if it can even get worse. Never mind that. It can always get worse.

The doors hiss shut behind me, Reno's voice carrying through the thick glass. "It will be in the newsletter!"

"We don't have a newsletter." I mutter and press the button for the floor I seek. Forget that cup of tea. Rekka and I are going to get acquainted with slaying a few virtual monsters at the training simulator. I need to burn off some steam.


	3. Meet the Fairs

**Again, the Muse owns nothing. She just felt like naming Zack's parents in this chapter. Enjoy folks!**

**Chapter Three - Meet The Fairs**

I think I understand where Zack gets his charm from now. Gongaga in the middle of summer. Remind me never to accept such an assignment again.

I swat a bothersome mosquito away and loosened my tie. If I don't die of heat stroke first, the bugs are going to be the ones to finish me off. Suck it up, I remind myself, I'm a Turk. We don't allow ourselves to be deterred by bugs or the weather. I shuffle up the path at a miserable jog. It still does not make this assignment any easier nor pleasant.

A shard of rusty metal sticks out of the path by a lonely graveyard tucked off to the side of what remains of the forest. The product of the exploded mako reactor improperly maintained by Shinra. How many died in that 'incident' again? A hundred? No, probably more. I glance down at a smaller gravestone. Seven years old. Never even got the chance to live a full life. Such a shame that this happened.

I search the brush for a small flower nestled amongst the weeds and lay it across the grave.

"I'm sorry." Two simple words to apologize to the young life stolen by the corporation I represent. So many have suffered because of us. Because of our leader. Because of this whole mako race to superiority and thirst for power. So many. And it didn't need to be this way.

I trudge up the narrow, dirt-trampled path into the shade of the towering oaks, their leaves tinted with the faint hue of oranges and maples. It will be autumn soon. And then a cold, dismal winter. How many more will bury children because of us this winter?

I can't be thinking about this right now. There is work to do, and mourning the loss of someone I never even met is not a part of this mission.

Just like Zack said the place would look - backwoods and untouched by society. If it was not for the corroded skeleton of a reactor scarring the landscape beyond the colorful gathering of thatched roofs and hut-like buildings, I might have sworn I was in Cosmo Canyon territory. It is eccentric to say the least. Just like him. Charming and welcoming in some odd strange way.

The soft crunch of footsteps across the humid path further along the trail catches my attention. A mother and her child walk along the path with a bundle of flowers. I avert my eyes and attempt to keep a low profile. The last thing these people need today are more Shinra invading their space. All I want is to find the Fairs, get what I need, and go back to headquarters. I do not want trouble from anyone.

The little boy wobbling along behind his mother stops and stares with his big hazel eyes. For a moment, we regard one another out of curiosity, he taking the first step towards me. I politely retreat from his and continue towards the huts.

"You look strange."

Yeah. I kinda do. Especially with a crimson shuriken slung over my shoulder and wearing long sleeves in what arguably is one of the warmest places I've been assigned a mission to. I can't help but smile at his youthful sense of curiosity and the hushing of his mother grasping him by the straps of his overalls and hauling him away from me.

"I'm terribly sorry." Fear laces her blue eyes. "He tends to wander off."

I hold a hand to up to show that I have no intention of reaching for Rekka to attack them. "It's all right. He wasn't causing any harm."

She recognizes my uniform from somewhere deep in her memory. No doubt from a short time after the reactor exploded. We Turks do not have a very good track record with being in a town for anything good.

I avert my eyes. "Um, excuse me, Miss, but would you know where the Fairs might reside?"

I need to keep as low of a profile as possible now that she seems to have gathered that I am a Turk.

"Yes," she points to the row of trees behind her, trembling. I realize I might be an imposing person, but am I really _that_ imposing? "Up the path and to the right."

"Thank you."

Now I know why Tseng assigned me this grisly task. Reno would find a way to inject his crude sense of humor into it, which would have gotten him slapped at some point. Rude would have just remained silent and handed them a letter. And Tseng can't come up with a decent way to break any news like this without causing a stir with that stiff attitude of his. Process of elimination. When you're a Turk faced with a sensitive mission, send someone who has never been to that location before. Someone who might actually be able to pull something like this off and look sincere about it.

The hut is small, but well built, seeing as it still stands after a reactor explosion in its back yard. Pieces of rusty shrapnel remain embedded in its ancient straw roof, like some sort of weird décor that someone felt fit to keep where it was. What a shame. If Zack could see this, he would have a fit.

Orders. Keep your mind off Zack's feelings and on your orders. I repeat Tseng's words once again in my mind. Find the Fairs. Tell them their son was killed in action. Find Zack and Cloud. Apprehend them or at least keep them in one location long enough for Professor Hollander and his group to finish what they started. And then get out of there. A simple cut and dry mission - if they even show up at all.

I tap at the age weathered, oaken door, half expecting it to fall from its hinges. A house is a house I suppose.

"Hello?" An aging woman peers up from a shawl she is knitting and smiles warmly. "Duncan, we have a visitor."

"Eh, Loise?" A hickory cane taps against the rough wood floor as the man limps his way into the kitchen area. According to Tseng's notes, these people are Zack's parents. A little older than I expected them to be, but still, a useful fountain of information. "A visitor you say?"

"A pretty little thing, dressed all fancy like them Shinra folk from years ago. Must be that lady Zackary mentioned in his letters four years ago," she looks up at me with a longing in her dark eyes. "Do you know my son? He's in SOLDIER and hasn't written in a while. I'm terribly worried something might have happened to him."

I pause in the doorway, uncertain of what to say or do. Tseng never mentioned that Zack had written detailed letters to his parents, let alone who this woman he mentioned might be. I have a decent idea who the girl is, but what Zack might have told them, that's where I'm going to have to get creative.

Four years. Four years. What to tell them. The truth maybe? Yeah, that would sound good. Hello, no I'm not in SOLDIER, I'm a Turk, and I'm here to kill your son because he escaped from a laboratory with a friend and is now a fugitive running loose in the foothills and posing a major threat to the cooperation that destroyed your town. And when I would have to call Tseng to explain that I was attacked by a crazy, knitting needle wielding Mrs. Fair, Reno would never let it go. I momentarily consider stepping out, calling Tseng, and asking just what he wants me to do about this little negligent detail he forgot to tell me about. It's obvious that Zack hasn't managed to make it home yet, which leaves plenty of time for a quick retreat.

No. Retreat is not an option. I need to get more information. For all I know, these sweet little elderly people might be lying to me. I brush my tangled auburn hair out of my eyes and nod towards Zack's mother.

"Um, yes, I know a Zack. Tall, funky hairdo, kind of wild like a chocobo. If he your son?" I ask. This has to be done flawlessly if it is to be successful.

"Oh my darling little Zack." Her eyes light up at the prospect. "Yes dear, he is a bit of a scoundrel. Always running around wanting to be a hero. You should have seen him when he was little. His father had gone out to cut wood and Zack thought he would follow him. Completely escaped the house butt naked and using a broom as a sword, swatted at the neighbors dog claiming it was a wolf. My, I've never seen a village laugh so hard."

Oh dear. Zack was an interesting one from the start. I look away to prevent myself from laughing at the thought of a younger Zack trying to be a hero to the town, failing miserably. His family is open to say the least.

She pulls a seat away from the table and motions for me to sit down while she brews some tea.

I hesitate, the image of a young Zack playing the hero in a town like this fresh in my mind. How am I going to tell her he is 'dead' as far as Shinra is concerned? I can't do this. I'm letting my emotions get the best of me.

"So how's my darling little Zack doing?"

I stare at the tiny china teacup with the small cherry blossoms painted across its surface, attempting to put my story in order. "Well, he's in some trouble right now."

His father sits down to listen to whatever I have to say. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"It's a little hard to explain. It's a personal matter I really can't talk about." Really. I'm not supposed to explain anything but the bare minimum. I've said too much already.

His mother drops the knitting needles she had been attempting to resume knitting with and his father's eyes narrow in a scowl.

"That boy will never learn!" Mr. Fair reaches for his cane. "Goes off and gets himself into some fancy trouble. I can only imagine why a lady would come running to his parents of all people."

A strong, somewhat gnarled hand grasps my shoulder and offers me some honey for my tea.

"He'll never find a wife if he can't keep a simple commitment! Didn't I tell ya, Loise, that he would get himself into this kind of trouble sooner or later!"

"You poor dear. Leaving you to raise his child without even putting a ring on your finger."

What in the hell? I never said anything like that! Oh no, they must think - I blush at the thought. Tseng, when I get back to headquarters, I'm going to make Reno look like a saint for this. Just what did he tell his parents about Aerith and him?

"Wait, Mrs. Fair! I'm not-" I'm not your son's girlfriend, and no I am _not_ carrying his child. I'm here to apprehend him for a science experiment. Yeah, the truth would work miracles right about now.

"How far along are you dear?"

"Mrs. Fair," I say, a bit more forceful than I intend. "Zack and I have never been together like that before. I'm-"

"When I see that boy again I'm going to whollup him good for this."

"Hey, let's not jump to conclusions! Zack and I are-" What's the word? "_Involved_ romantically, but not like that. It's complicated. With our jobs, we have to keep a low profile. We don't see each other as often as we would like."

Yeah, he hasn't seen nor spoken to her in four years. I really wish I had snagged those letters from Tseng to give to him when we meet again. Eighty eight letters and not one got to where they needed to go. Guess us Turks don't make good mailmen.

Mrs. Fair sighs with relief, reaching a verdict in that mind of hers. Train wreck to Zack's romantic life, now boarding. "I'm glad he did not love you and leave you. You never know with that boy."

"I wish he'd leave that SOLDIER thing and just settle down with a you already. Shinra this and Shinra that. You'd swear that place was running his life."

Right now, he's running from them. Which is why I'm here. I nearly choke on my tea at the comment. Future wife? Wait a second here. Did I miss something?

"So, we've heard so much about you Miss-"

"Um." Forgive me Zack, but I have no choice. "Aerith. Aerith Gainsborough."

"What a pretty name. Pleased to meet you, Aerith, Zack's future wife."

When Zack finds out about this, I'm really going to need that shuriken to keep him at bay.

"He always said he was going to bring you to see us. I just wish he would have decided to show up with you. Really now. What kind of boy leaves his lady waiting?"

"It's fine, Mrs. Fair. I'm actually here to meet Zack. He said he would be along once he took care of an ill friend of his. We'll be along for tea again someday. Right now though, I really need to go get him out of trouble first."

I gingerly set the teacup in the sink and begin the trek back into the mosquito-infested forest, but not without first being submitted to a hug from his mother. I fidget uncomfortably in her grasp at the foreign gesture. His father offers me a handshake.

"You take care dear. You're always welcome back here."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Family is so confusing. And now thanks to a simple understanding, they seem to think that I'm Zack's future wife and now a part of their family. Great. As though this mission was not complicated enough already. Now I have to play the family card, something foreign even to me.

I pick my way through the village. Well, another mission shot to hell. Tseng is going to kill me for this. With a heavy sigh I pass the graveyard once again, not even stopping to look. It's business as usual for the Turks.

My PHS shrills, startling me. Sensing the presence of other villagers in the vicinity of the graveyard, I step further down the trail and duck beneath a fallen oak.

"Cissnei," Tseng's voice seems stressed for some reason.

"Yes, Tseng?"

"Did you find Zack yet?"

"No, Sir. He has not quite made it to his parent's home yet."

"The Shinra army is approaching Gongaga from the north and Hollander is by the falls. I have Reno and Rude securing that area, but so far, none of them have found Zack and the other specimen. There is reason to believe he may be in the area still."

"I'm on it, Sir."

"Good. Don't disappoint me." I move to hang up the PHS, but Tseng's voice stops me. "Oh, one more thing."

One more thing. It's always one more thing. Alright. What do you want me to do now?

"Yes, Sir?"

"Angeal has been spotted in the area as well."

Wait, did he just say Angeal? Isn't he supposed to be dead? "Angeal? Are you sure, Tseng?"

"I have confirmation of a description meeting his persona. Do inform Zack if you see him."

"I will, Sir." I disconnect my phone call and switch the annoying piece of metal and plastic off. I can not risk a phone call from Tseng at a crucial moment.

The sunlight splays through the canopy of drying leaves, coating the pathway in light.

What's this? A feather? I pick the strong, white feather out of a lopsided fern and turn it over in my hands. Tseng was not lying about Angeal. But this feather seems different from Genesis's feathers. This one is not dark and foreboding, but full of light. Very soft, and gentle, like an angel's feather. I tuck it away with the PHS and move into a jog down the trail. I have to find Zack before the Shinra military and Hollander do. I just have to.


	4. Ten Minutes

**Chapter Four - Ten Minutes**

Puppies never do what you want them to do, and this one does not understand the concept of common sense. My boots slip against the loose-packed trail as I struggle to ease into a silent walk.

You idiot.

I struggle to calm my racing heart at seeing him standing there in the fork in the road - lost, confused, and longing to return home. Even a nearsighted sniper could pick him off from that angle - regardless of the SOLDIER behind his name. Worst yet, Reno and Rude in their helicopter could see him if they flew within a half mile radius, alert Tseng, and then I would be ordered to throw my shuriken at him and hold him there until Hollander and his crew arrive. There would be no way to allow even the slightest chance of escape, for him or for me. A shuriken is little good against the ballistic rounds fired from a Shinra Blackhawk. And if Tseng saw me let him go here of all places, I would be the guest of honor at my very own retirement party. No thank you. I'd rather not retire here today.

"Honestly, Zack." His shoulders stiffen and he reaches for his sword, but does not draw it. "You really are carefree. I'm sure even you would have realized that they will be waiting to ambush you at your house, right?"

I take a casual step closer, watching him, challenging him. His eyes dart across the path, for the first time surveying the area for anyone else who might be with me.

"Hmm."

"You were planning to see your parents I assume?" I cross my arms with a knowing look that forces him back a few steps and into the shadow of an oak. At least he's not too far in the open now.

"Is that wrong of me?" The poor guy. Traveling so far only to have his path blocked once again. At least this time, I don't think I'm going to have to draw my weapon to show him just how much danger he is in. I see it in his weary eyes. He knows.

"You're right. I wasn't thinking. We'll leave."

I try to focus on a few sparse flowers tangled amidst the weeds and listen. The sound of a helicopter in the distance. About ten minutes away at most. Time is running shorter than I anticipated.

"Be careful, okay? You're going to have to be more cautious than usual. Someone else has also come to this village." Now is going to be my only chance to tell him, and unlike before, I can not call Tseng to buy them any time.

"Who?" he once again looks around the forked clearing.

"Angeal," I reply.

"I see." His voice, so unlike the Zack I used to know. Bitter even, but hardly surprised. I stop walking by the base of a rock face and meet his gaze once again.

"You are not surprised by this? After all, you were the one who defeated him."

And dead people don't walk around, Zack. You're not telling me something important. Why would Tseng want for me to tell you about Angeal if he is supposed to be dead? Even Tseng saw seen him die. But now that he's alive, you are not surprised in the least.

"Thanks to him, I was able to escape from the Shinra Mansion."

But how Zack? The question burns on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to allow it to be asked. How did a dead guy manage to knock out Hojo's minions? And more importantly, why? I settle for remaining calm, like a good watchdog should.

"Is that so? So our witnesses were correct then." Tseng was correct, I want to add. But if he knew that Tseng is practically looking over his shoulder right now, there is no telling what the former SOLDIER might do. Not that Angeal is any of my business, but Zack is. And if it involves Zack, it involves me.

"Why would he come to Gongaga?" He rubs his chin in deep thought, contemplating his idol's motives.

"Probably wanted to see you, Zack. Could there be any other reason?"

A chill races up my spine as I walk past the weatherworn fence separating the trail and protecting the handmade sign reading "Gongaga." Someone else is here with us, and not looking too friendly upon my presence. A flicker of light dances amongst the brush atop the waterfall path leading to the highway. I reach for my shuriken, just in case I might have to use it.

Zack's eyes widen in realization to something only he understands. Like a mad beast cut loose from its tether, he waves his arms in the air and shouts towards the light. "If you're around here, Angeal, get out of here! The Turks are here as well!"

Something about the way he says Turks makes me take a step away from him. A SOLDIER this distressed is a dangerous one, more dangerous than even Sephiroth. And right now, I am the only threat in his field of vision. And if I am a threat to Zack, I am considered a threat by Angeal. That would be one fight I would not walk away from.

Forgive me Tseng.

"I'll give you ten minutes." Long enough for the helicopter to arrive and long enough for you to get Cloud and get the hell out of here without me standing in your way. "Once that time is up, I will be returning to the Turks."

"Returning?" He seems puzzled by this. I cannot look him in the eye right now. I just cannot. Call it a weakness. Call it cowardice, but I just cannot bring myself to do my job and snare him for Hollander's little experiment, which no doubt Hojo has his little grubby claws in as well. They do not deserve that.

"Right now-" I close my eyes at the bitter sting of betrayal. "I just can't do it. I can't bring myself to tell you parents the sad news."

Footsteps in the soil from my left.

"How's my mother doing?"

A longing sense of excitement looms in his voice and tugs at my soul. For ten minutes, I am not a Turk out to hunt him, but a friend. He intends to take every second he can of that advantage.

"She's worried about you. With this mess you've managed to get yourself in, she's concerned that you won't find a wife."

A smirk appears on his face with his laugh. "That's so ridiculous."

"Nice parents huh?" I return his smile at how warm they had been towards me, their enemy. "They're doing well."

"If they're well, that's good." He seemed to have lost his alert edge with the verdict of his family being safe.

"Honestly."

He turns back towards me with the excited smile of the puppy he is and if he had a tail, I'm sure he would have been wagging it. "What about yours?"

Mine? What parents? I rest a hand against the weathered wood of the fence rail. Those words sting worst than any sword could. Such a personal question. Too personal. Drawing a deep breath, I don't even look towards him with my reply. "I was raised by Shinra."

"Ah," he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, a blush creeping across his cheeks. That's the Zack I remember. Reckless and overeager to be a hero, but often putting his foot in his mouth.

A butterfly glides by to rest upon a sunflower. Family. Just what is a family supposed to be like? Are they like Zack's parents? Warm and friendly? Or something else entirely? I sigh and watch an ant cross the trail. Zack still has not replied and looks as though he is trying to find a way out of this.

Don't try to spare my feelings, Zack, I'm even more confused than you are about this whole fiasco. Truth be told, I don't have the time to sit around thinking of what my parents might have been like before I was abandoned on the streets and taken in by Shinra to become what I am today. It is not a place of my past I want to visit either.

"Hey, Cissnei-" He's walking on eggshells. I can hear it in his voice. Not that he has anything to fear right now from me. I am not going to draw my weapon for such a ridiculous question. "Do you think you could talk to my mother for me?"

Great, a second visit to the great knitting needle-wielding woman who thought I was carrying your child when I am not even your girlfriend to begin with. I loath the thought and hope he cannot see me roll my eyes at the prospect. I had been to the Fair household and done that already. The next time I might have to beg Reno to pose as my brother to get me out of there.

"It would be my pleasure." The right path towards the highway would be my best route of escape once I backtrack to the graveyard. At least then I can make it look like I was going back to his house to talk with his mother.

"Just don't say anything that would lead them to believe you're my bride-to-be."

I stiffen at the comment, the memory replaying in my mind.

With a smile, I impishly walk past him. "I've already told them."

"How could you tell them something like that!" A look of horror crosses his face and he blocks my path with his imposing being. Yep, back to the same old Zack. "Cissnei!"

I can't help but laugh at the way he says it, a little bit reprimanding, but at the same time off guard. He's cute when he flustered. I might as well confuse him a little more.

"That's not my real name." And it isn't. That is the name Shinra gave to me. If we're never going to see one another on friendly terms again, he might as well know that the name I told when we first met is a lie. Besides, it will give him something to think about for a while.

"Eh?" He really looks confused now and I take the opportunity to increase my pace.

"Five minutes left, Zack."

It should take me exactly four minutes and fifty nine seconds to find Reno, Rude, and their helicopter on the outskirts of the forest and redirect them back to Shinra headquarters, leaving Zack and Cloud to escape. I just wonder how long he's going to stand there pondering just that my real name is. Just like a puppy.

The path splits to a deer tail through the forest at the edge of the graveyard and I vault over the fence blocking it and break into a run, my mind made up. If the Turks cannot have Zack and Cloud, then neither can anyone else in Shinra.

I let them go once again.


	5. The Morning After

**Chapter Five - The Morning After**

When Reno had asked me this morning what mako power, vinegar, and a Bolt materia do when placed together, I should have just walked away. I blame it on the complex button combination to make the tea kettle work. Yes. Everything on the Turks' floor has a password, and I just happen to control the oh-so-mighty tea kettle, or at least I did until Reno thought he would be cute and change it without telling me. If it was not for the fact that I had gotten back to headquarters late last night and am already running late for my 5:00 morning patrol of the Sector Eight Loveless District, I probably would have abandoned my quest for my morning addiction and avoided this whole fiasco to begin with.

It is a morning ritual amongst us watchdogs. Reno has his alcohol. Rude has his orange juice. Tseng his coffee. And I have spearmint tea. I've already gone enough hours without sleep chasing Zackary through the Gongaga Forest and running marathons through the marshlands no one told me resided beyond that deer trail. I'll be damned if I am going to surrender the one thing still keeping me sane this morning.

"They make a minor explosion."

"I love you!" He drapes his arms over my shoulders, making the cup of steaming liquid surge out of its porcelain rim and onto my uniform.

"Damn it, Reno! What did I tell you about approaching me like that!" I elbow him in the ribs and frantically dab a cloth over the stain in futile attempt to prevent it from getting worse. Reno smiles that cocky half smirk of his and reaches for another cloth to help. I swat his hand away with a growl of annoyance. "Don't you have Sector Five to baby-sit today?"

"Nah, Tseng's covering it for me. Said something about watching that Ancient of his. I get the _whole _day off!" He stretches his arms above him casually and winks. "Whatcha doing after your shift?"

"Washing my uniform no thanks to you."

Damn it, this tea stain is stubborn. I shoot Reno a leering glare.

"Oooh. Hey, ya need any help with that yo? Maybe someone to rub fabric softener all over-" A swift kick to the knee sends him hopping backwards and over the glass coffee table. Rude looks up from his newspaper and sips his orange juice quietly. I can tell he finds this humorous.

"Love ya, Cissnei!" Reno drapes himself over the couch as I storm past, all hopes of my morning tea forgotten.

"Go to hell, Reno."

"Not without you!"

I fumble with my key card and make my way towards the elevator. It's too damn early for this. The familiar bell dings as it carries me to the first floor, where I greet the secretaries with my usual silent nod and swipe my card to begin my patrol of the silent streets beyond in search of any AVALANCHE members plotting to blow up the Shinra building.

Wait. I halt at the base of the stairs in front of headquarters, the fountain's endless cycle of flowing water casting a fine mist over the district. Reno had asked me how to make a bomb. _And _he had a day off. Zack is the least of my problems today.

For a moment, I consider retracing my steps to confront the red head about it. But then again, where is he going to find Bolt Materia anyway? Tseng keeps that locked up with - Oh hell.

If Reno can change the password to the tea kettle, then he found my master list of passwords. If he found the master list of passwords, then he has been in my dorm at some point. If he had access to my dorm, he had to have obtained my key card. If he had obtained my key card, then I must have been unconscious at some point. But when had that happened?

I check the clock in the square. 5:30. I had only been asleep for - wait. How _did _I get to my dorm last night after we arrived back from Gongaga? Tseng couldn't have brought me there. No, he was too occupied with his paperwork. Rude might have carried me. But if Rude had carried me, Reno would have fished the key card out of my pocket and opened the door.

And if Reno had found my key card, he would have had access to my safety deposit box where I store my materia. Oh dear lord. I just leveled up that Bolt to Thundaga the other day.

I grip Rekka tighter and turn back towards the Shinra building. AVALANCHE can wait.

If I had even the faintest idea of what Reno might have been targeting to blow up this morning, I probably would have called Tseng, told him I was ill, and stayed in bed. But right now, he's lose in the Shinra building with my materia, searching for an unknown target yet to be identified. Shit. I think I saw a flash on one of the upper floors.

My PHS rings before I even reach the top step to the entrance.


	6. The Phenomenon Known as Reno

**Chapter Six - The Phenomenon Known As Reno**

I don't think even Hojo could have committed such a crime with the grace and flair that the phenomenon known as Reno had.

There it lay, still smoldering with its gnarled arms reaching towards the dull light of the plastic-encased lights above, searching for a last glimpse of salvation. Powdery ashes lay scattered around its shell of a body, forming a bitter outline of what it once might have been. Shattered, crisp shards of what might have been clay proved exactly what had happened to the victim. It had simply exploded. A blockade of duct tape stretched from the desk to the chair and back again, to keep the unwanted bystanders out.

I have to commend my red haired comrade. He's done a hell of a job.

"Cissnei." Tseng steps out of the shadows, clutching his cup of coffee with that stern, reprimanding look in his eyes. The look that can send even Rude running for cover.

"I got here as fast as I could, Sir."

"What happened to your blazer?" He raises an eyebrow at the tea stain.

I blush at the comment. If I ever do manage to catch Reno again, he is going to pay dearly for this. This is not one of my better days. Not at all.

"A minor incident earlier this morning, Sir. May I ask why you summoned me back here on such urgent terms?" And kept me from patrolling for members of AVALANCHE who might decide to actually blow this place up might I add.

He points to the crime scene. "See for yourself."

And I saw once again just what Reno had done. "It looks like Reno's handiwork all right."

His eyes narrow at my confirmation. "And just how might he have gotten a hold of a fully mastered Thundaga materia, mako powder, and a bottle of vinegar?"

"I honestly cannot say that I know for certain, Sir."

Oh, I know all right. I know exactly where he got everything and how. I'm just not going to admit it while my boss is standing there without even finishing his first cup of coffee yet. Every Turk knows that if Tseng doesn't have his morning coffee, there is a higher than normal chance he might morph into one of Hojo's famous monsters and try to tear you limb from limb, or summon Bahamut Fury if he can't decide what monster he wants to be at the moment. Not even Sephiroth dared to cross Tseng's path on those days, and he didn't even have to share the same floor with him like we do. This coupled with Reno's escapade promises the coming of the apocalypse by noon. I make a mental note to mark in my little black book. Apocalypse at noon. Check.

I guess I'll go find the mop and bucket to clean this mess up then. Why did I even answer that question this morning? Oh, right, because of the tea kettle and yesterday's trip to Gongaga. I knew this would be Zack's fault somehow.

Tseng is still yelling at me, despite the fact that I'm trying my best to ignore him. I wonder just how I can use that shuriken of mine to make Reno miserable for the rest of the week. Hmmm. He really hates the sound it makes when I throw it at the wrong angle. Potential there. Lots of potential.

"Last time I checked, I had entrusted the security of this entire floor to you. How could-" he is seething now as his eyes fall upon the remains of Reno's escapade yet again. "How could you let _this_ happen?"

The only other thing that could have made the situation worse was if -

"Hey, Tseng, your 6:00 is here to meet with you."

Great going, Reeve. You've just damned us all. I step out of Tseng's range and let the bearer of bad news past.

Tseng's withering glare descends upon us both. "Cissnei, clean this disaster up. Reeve, tell my 6:00 that we will meet at 8:00 and that my office is not presentable at the moment due to a certain red haired Turk who thought it would be cute to blow up my most prized possession."

Reeve's eyes widen in surprise as he looks at me. I return the glare and retrieve a broom and dustpan with a disgruntled grumble. Not me you idiot, the other red head.

With a sigh, I duck under the duct tape barrier to collect the remains of Reno's 'victim,' depositing them unceremoniously in the trashcan by the scorched desk. It's the least I can do.

"Oh, and Cissnei-" Anytime he adds 'oh' to anything he tells me, it always ends badly.

I dust the dirt from my blazer and the ash from my knees. "Yes, Tseng?"

"I need to discuss something important with you. Meet back here around 12:00, after you finish your patrol."

Yep, apocalypse taking place in this very office today at noon. I can hardly wait. Like I was going to even try to escape from this anyway. I nod towards both Reeve and Tseng and finish cleaning up the mess Reno had made.

"And for Holy's sake, change the password to the liquor cabinet."

I make extra certain to grab my silence materia from my dorm to hunt down Reno afterwards.

But, and I still cannot help but wonder, just what did Tseng's prized Wutainese bonsai tree do to Reno to warrant such an assassination as being blown up in the first place?

Some things I'll never understand.


	7. Twelve o'clock Apocalypse

**Chapter Seven - Twelve o'clock Apocalypse **

Call it Turk Intuition, but something tells me that this meeting with Tseng has little to do with Reno and the exploding bonsai tree and more to do with my actions in Gongaga. I straighten my tie and brush a strand of auburn hair out of my eyes before knocking softly upon the office door. I pray it is the latter.

Tseng's irritated tone answers. "Come in."

"Sir," I creep through the door with a cautious step. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

Here we go. He's either going to tear into me with that arrogant attitude of his again, or he's going to say something amounting to a lecture. I am prepared for either this time.

He takes a seat behind the desk and folds his hands over the piece of paper before him. Not another failed mission. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. As though reading my mind, he pushes the paper to the side with his fingertips and stares at me. "Hollander is dead."

Three words that mean so much more. My pulse quickens at the prospect of what Tseng is going to say next. I need to hear what I want this time. I just need to. Come on Zack. Don't disappoint me.

"And once again, the specimens escaped."

Never have such words brought such comfort. Zack and Cloud, both of them, still on the run. For the first time in a long time, the foreign emotion of hope creeps into my soul. They can win this. They can escape from Shinra. They will be the heroes they seek to be.

They will _survive_.

"Scarlet is starting to suspect that something is wrong with our department. After all, the Turks have not been able to apprehend these two yet despite our advanced methods of tracking and cornering them. They should have been caught in the Nibelheim plains, but they 'escaped.'"

I feel the color flee from my face at the words. Scarlet. _The _ruthless Scarlet of the Weapons Department is involved in _our _affairs. I clench my fists in frustration. What right does she have with telling us what we can and can not do? Not even Director Lazard nor even Rufus can step on our toes without authority from President Shinra himself. But now _she's_ involved? Something does not make sense here.

"Fortunately," Tseng's fingers drum the varnished surface of the desk. "Scarlet is not in charge of this department, I am. And the Turks are not going to bend to the whims of her and Heidegger, regardless of what she says or threatens to do."

"May I ask a question, Sir?"

He nods.

"Would this have anything to do with her branch of the Shinra infantry being unable to get within two miles of Zack and Cloud on both occasions?"

"Petty jealously. A nice observation, and very much possible. At this morning's board meeting, they both looked like they wanted to see each one of us exterminated. Even Reeve noticed the hostility."

"Reeve notices everything."

"And with good reason. He's my spy amongst the higher ups. Whatever he finds out, he relays to me, which I, in turn, relay to either Reno, Rude, or you."

A comfortable silence drifts in through the open window behind the desk. For once, I am not in trouble and facing dire consequences for my actions on the last mission. Tseng leans back a bit in his chair, a rarity for a man of his stature.

"Let's just say-" A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "That the Shinra Military and Department of Administrative Research do not have the same motives in apprehending Mr. Fair and Mr. Strife. A good Turk is one who is both good at acting and convincing while they do it."

He rises from his seat and paces before the window, pausing to watch the afternoon sun slither through the blinds and smog. "Every one of my people is worth one hundred of Scarlet's and Heidegger's. They are resourceful and experts on playing the field. However, to maintain my standards and appear less suspicious in what we are trying to accomplish with Mr. Fair and Mr. Strife's quest for freedom, I am required by Shinra to hire another Turk for my group."

Wait. I sit up a little straighter than normal. Another Turk? Just where does he intend to find someone else to do this kind of job? It's not like you just fill out the job application, check yes to all of the above, and then you're automatically considered a Turk. Hell, it took me the better part of sixteen years to make it this far, and that was with Shinra having seized me from an orphanage and educating me this way. I'm pretty sure Reno and Rude were here a lot longer than sixteen years as well between them.

Tseng's obsidian eyes fall upon me with a sort of odd humor behind them. "Because the universal rules for accepting new Turks as official members of the department are a minimum of two years worth of field experience on top of whatever relevant training with a weapon and materia learned at the academy, usually an additional year, this member would start out as a baseline rookie and eventually work their way up to becoming a full-fledged member of our organization. How would you feel about having something to do when you're not being sent out to keep tabs on Fair and Strife?"

So he wants me to school a rookie in the ways of being a Turk. Great. And here I thought I was being punished for my actions. I roll my eyes at the prospect. At least I still have the mission to aid in helping Zack and Cloud escape, with Tseng's blessing this time.

"Yes, Sir."

"And then there is the case of my ancestor's three hundred year old bonsai tree which met its end early this morning."

I tug at the collar of my blouse with a sheepish grimace. He is not going to let this go is he? After all, it had been his most prized possession and of all of the things Reno could have blown up in the executive offices, he just _had _to take out the tree.

"Your new mission begins tomorrow at 10:00 eastern Shinra time. I suggest you stress the importance of keeping your key card out of Reno's hands in the future. When I find out the latest on Zack's whereabouts, I will be certain to inform you. Dismissed."

I start my trek towards the door, somewhat more at ease over the new mission.

"And, Cissnei-"

Not again.

"Be sure to send Reno to my office when you see him. I seem to have found a pleasant little mission for him to embark on to prevent anymore of his 'days off' that seem to cause such problems."

Will do, Tseng. I'll be sure to send him your way.


	8. The Interview

**By the way, thanks to all who have reviewed so far and have added this story to your alerts. If you see anything I can improve upon, don't hesitate to let me know. I won't bite ya. You keep fueling the Muse that has hijacked by writing desire and a steady stream of updates shall be your reward. :) Anyway, without further ado, our beloved scoundrel Reno makes a reappearance in this chapter, as does a very recognizable face from the future. Commencing Mission now! **

**Chapter Eight - The Interview**

"Whatcha got there?"

"Go away, Reno." I fish the paper away from his hand and slap it back against the surface of my desk face down before he can even think about reading it. Tseng has entrusted the new recruit to me, not him. And for a good reason too. We don't need another Reno Sinclair running amok.

He leans across the desk, "Aw come on. Just a little peek."

"How did you get in here anyway?"

"You left the door open." A sly smirk slinks across his face, his hand snaking closer to the piece of paper.

I stab my pen closer to his fingers in warning. "Back. My piece of paper. Not yours."

"Heh. Is that so?" Before I can stop him, the paper slips from beneath my fingertips and appears in his grasp. Dirty little thief.

"Reno! Give that back right this instant!" I lunge for the piece of paper, and stumble over a chair he manages to have placed between us with his foot. How in the hell he did that I have no idea. Must be from his time spent in Junon.

He smirks and climbs halfway up the bookcase, perching there like an annoying rooster to read it. "Whoa, this one sounds like a fox."

"Reno!" I retrieve the chair to pursue him. Curse his being a full foot and a half taller than me.

"Sexy and seductive. Looks like she's a blonde too. Hot Damn." He wolf whistles and clutches the paper closer for a better look. "And she's single!"

"All of us are single." Really. I'm not in the mood for this today. "It's a requirement. Now. Give. It. Back." I grab his boot and attempt to pull him off of the top of the bookcase without the whole thing falling on me. Somehow I doubt Tseng would forgive me calling off sick due to a bookcase related injury.

"Got a picture by any chance?" He winks and unties the boot strings with a simple movement. The pungent aroma of socks in desperate need of being assigned a mission to be washed fills my office.

"Damn it, Reno, don't you do laundry?" I throw the offending boot at him, catching him alongside the head. "How does Rude put up with living beside your dorm?"

"He's got an air freshener."

"Gods, Reno," I jump from the chair and open the lone window to my office, praying for a breeze of some sort. A knock at the doorframe is my reward. Holy. She's earlier than I expected.

"To love me is to smell me yo."

"Uh, hello?" The meek voice inquires, a look of confusion evident upon her face, as though not quite certain it is safe to enter yet or not. A wiser recruit would turn and flee now.

I cast a glare at Reno, who begins to swing his legs against the shelves and knocks several books to the floor just because he can and knows it will piss me off later when I end up trying to reshelf them. Brushing an invisible layer of dust from my blazer, I take a step towards her and offer her my hand to shake in welcome, or peace offering. I'm not certain which it should be yet. "You must be Elena."

"Feisty. Meow! Just how I like them. And hot too." Reno slaps a hand against the wood and whistles once again. I grit my teeth, embarrassed for the both of us.

"We're not quite sure what Reno is yet," I explain. "But we're hoping something that can be housetrained. His keeper is out on a mission right now and he accidentally slipped through the open doorway and kinda wandered in here. I haven't had the opportunity to return him yet."

Elena chuckles at the comment. "He's…interesting to say the least."

"Hot damn! Ya hear that, Cissnei? She thinks I'm interesting!" Another sinister smirk crosses his face. Yes, Reno. And a lot of Shinra scientists think so too. "Damn. I never realized you were that short either. Gods, woman, drink a glass of milk or something or you'll stay a midget forever!"

"Reno!" I turn towards him and reach for the shuriken by my desk. "Tuck your shirt in and act your rank or get out of my office!"

Obviously, the wrong thing to tell a guy like Reno. Rude, where are you when I need you?

"I'm young, studly, and full of fire looking for a good time!" His eyes fall upon Elena once more. "Hey baby, how about after the interview I show you what its like to be a real Turk."

Calm down. He's just looking for attention. Look away and he'll shut up. You have a job to do.

"Elena, please, have a seat so we can discuss your resume. Ignore the idiot on the bookcase."

Damn it, Reno stole my pen too. I open the top desk drawer for another one and feel my fingers drift over the smooth, glass-like orb. Thank Holy. I can not resist an inward smirk as I gesture towards the obnoxious red head and whisper the spell under my breath. Immediately, silence floods the air. He crosses his arms with a brooding glare and continues to kick his feet against the wood, most of his thunder stolen by the magical little orb resting on my desk.

"Again, I do apologize for Reno. He gets a little ticky when he's not invited along with Rude on a mission and is left behind to handle the paperwork."

"So I see."

"Anyway." I sit down across from her and began jotting down the important questions that need to be answered from her resume. Hold on a second. I've heard this name before, rarely in a good way either, and usually the conversation ending with the phone being thrown across the room and a series of swear words following. I know I've seen her somewhere before too. At the funeral years ago.

Gun's little sister. Who would have ever imagined that someone who held such vehement rage against us would end up sitting here, trying to become a part of our little pack?

"So you want to be a Turk." I cannot help but feel less than enthused about this whole thing. From what little I did gather, and it was never my place to ask, of our resident gun-wielding blonde's temper regarding speaking to the woman currently seated in front of me, they were not on good grounds when the incident occurred and the chance to make amends never happened. Tseng's presence at the funeral did little to improve our standings or earn us any form of forgiveness, only serving to drive the rift between Gun and her sister wider than ever.

So why would someone who hates us so much, now want to be one of us?

She nods and nervously fumbles with the fringe of her moss green skirt. Nervous? That's not a good sign. I realize we can be intimidating, but if you're this nervous trying to join our ranks, then you're obviously either not ready for something like this, or you're hiding something. And I'm not too certain of the daffodil yellow sweater, the moss green skirt, and the six inch fire truck red heels. None the less, I have to go through with my questions as ordered.

"First, do you realize what it is we do for a living?"

I know she knows this already. Her sister would have taught her that. Still. I have to ask because Tseng has it under his list of things to ask. I kinda sorta see why he pawned this off onto me.

"You are the Shinra Elite," she replies, trying to sound confident. "You make sure that all of Shinra's corporate leaders are protected and that certain, restricted missions are carried out without incident. Often in cloak and dagger formation."

Well, perhaps she knows her stuff after all. "Yes, but do you know what kind of missions we are assigned?"

"Assassinations, kidnappings, espionage. You are a fearsome group."

She's not the worse candidate ever interviewed at least. I can almost see a little bit of her sister in her, just in the way she's looking at Reno and me. Perhaps I underestimated her completely. Now for the fun part - seeing if she's ever used a weapon before. I pick up the shuriken and gesture towards Reno. "How good's your aim, Elena?"

She pales and shies away from the weapon I place before her, no doubt having second thoughts already. I don't expect her to be a shuriken user or anything, but right now, my pistol is locked up in my safety deposit box and this is all I really have to give her a minor test. This is a rookie I'm dealing with after all. Tseng can settle the weapon issue later.

I cast Esuna on Reno for a brief few seconds and motion to the hallway. "I trust you brought your Electro-Mag Rod?"

"Oh yeah, babe. Anything for you. In fact-" I quickly silence him again before he can make any more lewd comments.

"Just get your rod, Reno, and let's do this."

He whistles in silence and jumps down from the bookcase, taking the lead into the spacious hallway where very little can be broken. The EMR taps against his shoulder in perfect rhythm with his stride, even if he is missing one boot and probably most of his mind.

I gesture to Elena to pick up my weapon and point to Reno. "Go ahead, try to hit him."

Her hands tremble as she takes the crimson and silver spiral-bladed weapon in her hands and struggles to understand how it works. After a quick lesson on how to throw it, I step back to evaluate her progress like Tseng has written to do in my orders. Today, I'm not looking for accuracy so much as I am hesitation in trying to hit my comrade.

Reno yawns and leans against the wall, the weapon veering off course and clattering harmlessly against of the floor a good five feet away. Definitely needs some work in the aim department. At least, I hope it was a bad throw and not just blatant fear of hurting him.

"Elena, just what type of weapon are you trained in if I may ask?" Perhaps I am not giving her enough credit. She is a rookie, I remind myself. Rookies are years behind the rest of us in all skills, especially weaponry and combat.

"Um, well, not really much of anything really."

What did I do to deserve such a hell as a raw rookie who had never held a weapon in her life? Why this rookie? Oh, right. I let Zack and Cloud escape and then co-assassinated a three hundred year old ancestral bonsai tree. I can't say I did not have this coming.

Tseng could have at least supervised this whole fiasco.

"Okay, but you threw left instead of right. You didn't even aim for him."

"I'm afraid I'll hurt him."

Holy. Gun she is not. Even Reno raises an eyebrow at this, laughing to himself. I just shake my head and struggle to quell the headache forming. And this woman wants to be a Turk of all things? I suggest something in the secretarial field in my personal opinion.

"You might have to fight your fellow Turk in a battle at some point. Trust me, Reno's skull is thicker than a brick wall with very little inside to protect. The last thing you're going to do is hurt him. Here-" I retrieve the shuriken. Reno flicks on the Electro-Mag Rod, alert and ready for battle. "This is what you will learn how to do with whatever weapon you fit best with."

For fun, I decide to esuna him for this fight.

"Yeah baby! This is gonna be fun."

"Looking forward to it, Reno." I duck to the left and feign as if I am going to throw the shuriken.

Reno spins to the right, the baton crackling as it cleaves through the air in challenge. "Aw, come on babe! You gotta be wilder than that!"

"Be a man then, Reno, and show me what you've got!"

The shuriken leaves my hand in a wide arch, several meters off target. Reno smirks and lunges forward, swinging the rod with a trail of sparks filling the air much to a horrified Elena's shout of terror. Right where I want Reno, thinking I am defenseless and easy prey. For a split second, I hesitate, and allow him to gain another stride.

Perfect. I drop to the ground and swing my leg out, catching his bootless foot and upsetting his balance. With a quick jab, I catch him in the stomach, grasping him by the elbow and driving him onto his side. The electro-mag rod crackles harmlessly overhead.

"You were saying about me being short earlier?"

A familiar click and Reno swears in frustration, the force of being caught from behind frustrating him.

His unbuttoned jacket and the untucked part of his shirt pinned to the ground by my weapon, I kick the Electro-Mag rod out of his grasp and retrieve my shuriken. Victory is mine this round.

That was for dragging me into this bud.

"That is what a Turk must be able to do, and you will, with time and patience. Isn't that right, Reno?"

"How in the hell did you do that?" He's looking around to see where Rekka had deflected from. I smile and motion for him to retrieve his rod.

"Metal doorframe to your left, Reno. Anyway, Elena, likewise, in the blink of an eye," I throw the shuriken lazily towards Reno's baton. The crackle of electricity scalds the air as the weapon deflects back, landing right in front of the poor rookie's toes and out of my reach. "The battle can also turn on you if you're not careful. Nice, Reno."

Yeah, Zack did that to me when I tried to attack him. I hesitated and lost, badly. And that was not showing off for a rookie cadet.

"Anything for you, babe."

"Don't get too cocky, Reno," I warn. "Anyway, Elena. You think you're up to learning all of this?"

She nods. "Yes. I will try my best."

"Good. Now I believe Reeve has some paperwork for you. Nothing major. Just some minor grievances and stuff like that. Tseng already signed his stuff and now our resident notary, Reeve, will do the rest. The next time we see one another, I'll introduce you to the group formally and we'll get you started on the path to becoming a full-fledged Turk like your sister was. I look forward to working with you."

Not really, but every rookie likes to hear that.

She shakes my hand with a forced smile. "Thank you. I promise you won't regret this!"

She accepts the notes I retrieve from my desk and her resume and strides off to the corner office where Reeve lurks. An inward shudder nags at the back of my mind. She was too chatty to be the secretive type. Probably one to act on impulse and say something at the wrong possible time to jeopardize a mission.

Reno places a hand upon my shoulder with a wink."Oh, I think someone's jealous."

"Shut up, Reno. I am not jealous of her."

It just bothers me that Tseng feels compelled to bring someone like _her _into the group. I mean, I know he was required to in order to lower suspicion on what we are doing under Heidegger's nose, but did it have to be someone like her?

"I don't know," he chides. "You seem kinda defensive about there being another woman on the team again. That screams jealous."

"In your dreams. She's not worth half of what her sister was to the team, or any of the other girls I once worked with for that matter. You'll see what I mean."

My PHS shrills from my pocket. Not a good time, Tseng.

"Yes, Tseng."

_"Cissnei,"_ his voice is strained. Now what happened? _"I assume Reno is with you. Tell him to meet Rude at the helipad immediately. You need to get there as fast as you can. Our targets have been spotted outside of Midgar and the Shinra Army knows they're there too. Hurry."_

"We're on our way."


	9. Mission Briefing

**Chapter Nine - Mission Briefing**

The Shinra Blackhawk is a modern day marvel to the average citizen. Built with a shell of rigid, mako-treated steel, it can cover large amounts of ground in a relatively short amount of time and handles better than most cars. To us Turks, it is invaluable in a situation like this. We are behind in the game and somehow the Shinra military has managed to march right into our territory before we even knew it. No doubt the product of Scarlet's desire to flex her military muscle so we would see it.

According to Tseng's latest report, there was a battalion of well over a thousand soldiers, armed and dangerous, combing every inch of the wasteland for Zack and Cloud with only one order to follow - kill on sight.

The rotor blades of the helicopter thunder in the open air of the helipad. It appears I will be alone on this mission, seeing as Reno and Rude have already decided to work together this round. Not that I can blame them. For all of his arrogance, Reno doubles his skills as a pilot and is, simply put, one of the best that the Department of Administrative Research has to offer.

I move towards the helicopter, but Tseng's appearance steals away valuable seconds that could better be utilized in the air. Come on. We're wasting time. I paused long enough to hear what he has to say none-the-less for fear he forgot to mention something important. He's famous for doing that at times during key missions.

"The army is on the move as well. Secure the targets before they do."

Tell me something I don't know, Tseng. "I know. The army, however, is clueless about the conditions of the situation."

And if Cloud is still the comatose zombie he was in Nibelheim, Zack's a goner. I have to hurry and get out there before the thousand others get too far. Today I have no choice but to be the effective tracker I'm been raised to be.

"He'll be alive. I'm certain of it. And you are going to be the one to save his life." A command lacking its usual luster and confidence the man is known for. Do I really look that doubtful to him?

"Of course," I hesitate and add in a small whisper of prayer for Zack, wherever he his. He's going to need everything he can get. "I still haven't told you my real name."

"I'm counting on you for their sake. There are letters I wish to give him - eighty eight to be exact."

I never understood just why he had never delivered that flower girl's letters. It was not as if anything she could have said would have jeopardized Shinra in any way shape or form. If anything, they would have brought Zack home a lot sooner and Reno, Rude, and I would not have to be out here racing an impossible clock looking for two proverbial needles in a field of a million haystacks.

I hurry to the helicopter and secure the pilot's seat, fumbling with the gauges. The Shinra Blackhawk lifts towards the sky in a steady rise, despite my trembling hands making the proper adjustments for the mako rich atmosphere. I have to remain calm. Zack will be okay. I'm little use to them if I manage to crash before even getting out of Midgar.

I see Reno and Rude's helicopter zip out over the Sector Eight plate and turn my bird towards Sector Seven. If we can fly in formation for only a few miles, we might be able to grasp a better idea of what it is we are looking for.

The steel plate below gives way to a haunting landscape of dry, brittle land, stripped of all life but that of the monsters Hojo turned loose. His 'failures' as they have been called, destined only to hunt and thrive in the rocky terrain. The epic Midgar Wastelands. Over a million square miles of nothing but death. I watch the clouds looming over the ocean to the north. It is going to rain today. I can feel it.

"Where are you Zack? Where did you go?" The radar spills its eerie mako green light over the cockpit. Just like his eyes, beckoning and convincing. Only, there is no life within them now. Not even so much as one Shinra soldier on the radar either. Not good news for us.

Wait, the letters. Aerith had written eighty-nine letters, not eighty-eight. And I remember Director Lazard having dropped one into his bag by accident before he vanished. If Lazard encountered Zack somewhere during his travels and gave him the letter - I tap the radio to the frequency I am looking for. There are only two places Zack and Cloud could be in the entire wasteland, and both of our helicopters should be about six minutes away from them.

"Reno, Rude. How's the situation?"

The radio crackles with Reno's somewhat disappointed tone._ "Nothing at all."_

_"What about you?"_ Rude inquires. I watch the radar with hungry intent, praying anything will show up. A small flick of white appears in the far circle.

"The same," I watch the light vanish again. "From here, I'm going to point 235. Reno, Rude, you guys go to point 120."

If I'm right, I will see about a thousand Shinra soldiers heading straight for the Sector Five slums in three minutes. And if Reno and Rude are right, they'll see the same thing going towards Kalm. I just hope that Zack and Cloud are still alive.


	10. Strong Enough to Cry

**Chapter Ten - Strong Enough To Cry**

Scarlet had not sent soldiers, she had sent a battalion of butchers. The fresh blood still trickles in a painful procession down the clay-packed hill to pool amongst the rocks and corpses, staining the gray stone dark for eternity. A massacre occurred upon this ridge.

It had started to rain well before I found a semi-level location to land the helicopter. A pure, cleansing rain that is such a rarity around Midgar now-a-days. Perhaps, when those first droplets began striking the windshield, I knew. I knew what I would find up on that ridge. But I do not want to believe it.

Rainwater soaks the woolen fabric of my dark blazer and mud streaks my trousers, but right now, that is the least of my concerns. I just _have_ to make it to him. I have to know the truth.

Stone grates against my leather half gloves as I climb, boots slipping in the blood-marred mud and forcing me to my knees more than once. This ridge is difficult enough for one healthy person, let alone one who was injured and carrying a burden such as Cloud. My fingers wrap around a sharp crag of stone, split by the mako-infused bullets that had riddled the ridge earlier.

"Holy…"

I can hear Reno and Rude making their way in this direction as quickly as they dare. Whatever fate befell Zack and Cloud atop this ridge is Tseng and I's business. Not theirs. They were sent here to assist, not to do my job for me. And part of my job is to identify and confirm - god forbid - the death of my target.

An infantryman lies draped over the edge of the stone to my left, a jagged slash across his torso. There are plenty more around him, each bearing the same markings of the battle. I locate level ground and move a little bit faster towards the form of a man resting at the edge of the ridge.

Please don't be him. Be another infantryman, or a drill sergeant. But not _him_.

For the first time, I cannot look at his body. It's too much. Too many bullet holes with the congealed blood still oozing at the discretion of the rain's will. Too many patches of blackened skin along his strong arms and hands where he had held Angeal's sword in his final stand. Too much death.

An inhuman trembling seizes my body and I take a step in reverse, the heel of my boot connecting with the flesh of an unknown soldier. I need to get out of here. Now.

"Hey." A steady hand grasps my trembling shoulder, drawing me close in a protective embrace. "Are you sure you're up to this, Cissnei?"

The towering presence of Rude appears on my other side, concern in the way he stands, as though to shield me from the truth right in front of me.

Zack Fair is dead, murdered by the same company that employed him.

"I…I have to Reno." My voice feels foreign, broken even. This can't be right. I-I'm. I'm not seeing any of this. He's not dead. I can't-

Reno draws me closer and rests his chin atop my auburn hair. For several minutes, he holds me close, making no movement to let me go as the rain soaks his jacket and the scalding sensation blurs my vision. The foreign liquid seeps with the raindrops into the left shoulder of his jacket, but he does not move.

"Shhh. There's no hurry, Cissnei."

I continue to tremble, unable to control it. He continues to stand there, a firm pillar of strength within this cruel world. A solid sense of understanding swirls within those impish, yet honest green eyes. If anyone knows how I feel right now, it is my fellow Turks standing with me this day. They are not going to try to tell me that everything is going to be okay. They aren't going to sugar coat any of this, that he did not die in the fashion he did, and that this is not my fault.

And for that, I am grateful.

Rude begins walking towards the body behind me, a shovel clasped with white knuckles. If the sight of such bloody carnage bothers him, he does not show it. But the hesitance in his step does not leave him unaffected.

I feel Reno loosen his grip ever so slightly to look at his comrade. "We'll bury him, Cissnei. Let's get you out of the rain first."

Get out of the rain…

I draw away from Reno's embrace completely and shake my head.

"No." I close my eyes with a soft whisper. "I need to do this, Reno. I _need_ to."

The red haired Turk nods. "Okay, Cissnei. If you are certain this is what you want, then I will not try to stop you."

"Thank you, Reno." I draw a shaky breath and turn towards Zack's body. Reno places a comforting hand upon my shoulder and walks at my side to the edge of the hole Rude has begun to dig, and hands me a shovel.

I'm sorry, Zack. I'm sorry for allowing you to die out here. I should have done something more to help you. Please. Please forgive me.

The sandy, gritty earth clings to the shovel with stubborn persistence, each inch dug stained with blood, sweat, and tears. Reno keeps a watchful eye on me as we work, the hole gradually becoming deeper. It is the least we can do for him.

They even took his sword from him. His honor. Is nothing sacred to the dead? And Cloud, poor, sweet, timid Cloud. Did they shoot him too and lay his body somewhere for the wolves to devour? Or did he even make it this far?

Wherever they are, I pray they had found peace. A land without war. A land without pain.

Their promised land.

I am forced to look away when we transport his body to the grave. Hands trembling from the frigid rain and sore from grasping the shovel so hard, I close his vacant eyes forever and allow Reno and Rude to lower him into the makeshift grave. It is not much, but it will shield him from the monsters.

Forgive me, Zack, for not being able to look at you in this state. I do not want the memories of your bloodied, broken body, but those of the times we when we met in the world of the living - your youthful, excitable presence dominating your every movement. I don't want those memories lost by the sight of your body now.

The first shovelful of earth to hit his body is the worst. With each one thereafter, a part of me wishes for him to fight back, to prove to us that he is not dead, but very much alive. After all, are not the elite first class of SOLDIER immortal in their own right?

The last shovelful rounds the grave and breaks my thoughts. Reno is at my side once again, guiding me down the rocky embankment towards the helicopters. We have to return home. There is work still to be done. Reports to give. Tears to be shed.

I could have sworn I saw a thin line in the mud, as though someone had dragged something heavy away on the trail to Midgar. But I dare not stop to look closer. I don't think I can handle the sight of the blonde infantryman's body if it is still in this area. A heavy thunder in the distance catches my attention. It's going to storm again.

"You sure you're going to be okay, Cissnei? Want me to ride back with you?"

"I'll be okay, Reno." I whisper, my throat raw from crying. "Let's go home."

"Just be careful. It looks like the weather is going to get pretty rough."

"It's a five minute flight." I step towards the helicopter. "I'll be fine, Reno."

With the rain cascading through our helicopter blades, we fly side by side towards Midgar from the unmarked grave of Zack, the hero.


	11. I've Been Hit

**Chapter Eleven - I've Been Hit**

Calling Tseng was the hardest phone call I've ever had to make. As I sit here, watching the rain tap the windshield to the rhythm of the steady blades and adjusting the controls to counter it, a distant part of me does not want the Wutainese man to answer. I do not want to be the one to tell him we failed yet another mission, this time with the consequences too grave to comprehend. There are some things in life that even the most even tempered watchdog does not enjoy bringing back to their master. The death of SOLDIER First Class, Zackary Fair is the most painful.

I hear the click of the signal connecting and his usual stoic tone fills the air. _"What's your status?"_

I draw a deep breath and focus on the outline of Midgar farther ahead. "They're dead, Sir."

For a moment, only silence, as though he is trying to comprehend it himself.

_"Cissnei-"_ his tone has fallen a bit lower, the shock invading it.

"Yes, Tseng?"

Another pause. _"I'm sorry."_

Something about hearing Tseng apologize sends chills down my spine. He never apologizes for anything, let alone a failed mission. It is an unwritten rule amongst the Turks. We have no regrets and nothing to be sorry for. We do not apologize for our actions.

"Sir?"

_"What did you do with the body?"_

"We buried him, Sir." My voice trembles. "In an unmarked grave looking towards Sector Five."

The sound of papers being shuffled in the background and the heavy scratch of a pen. _"You did well, Cissnei."_

I did well...No. Doing well would have meant that right now Zack and Cloud would be back in custody, the latter looking forward to a long overdue reunion with Aerith. What I have done was nothing short of absolute failure.

Something flashes upon the horizon to my right and the radar blinks. Something's not right.

"What on earth?"

I tap a finger against the radar and watch the glow double in size. Damn. This doesn't look good.

I set the PHS to the side and tap the radio's dial in an effort to regain their frequency. They need to see this to believe it. "Reno. Rude."

_"Yeah, Cissnei? What's up?"_

"I've got something odd on the radar at coordinates 314."

The sound of shuffling amidst the static. _"What the hell? It's moving damn fast for a person."_

I retrieve the PHS, the radar flashing quicker. Something's headed right for me.

"Tseng," I frantically scan the distance between my helicopter and the helipad, a good five miles away. "I've got a problem."

_"What kind of problem?"_

The entire Shinra Blackhawk shudders with a roar of thunder from somewhere beyond the closed door of the cockpit, throwing me against my shoulder harness and catching my rib against the lower control stick. My pulse quickens, controls shrieking as I fight to realign the helicopter with the horizon. The rain falls harder.

_"Oh my god."_

_"Shit."_

I don't like the sound of how Rude and Reno are speaking.

_"Cissnei!"_Reno appears panicked, the static worse than usual. The Blackhawk veers sharply to the left. What in the hell's going on?

"Reno! What in the hell was that?" I struggle to see through the window, but the dark clouds of the storm are obscureing most of the landscape. Shit. I'm losing my instrument readings on altitude. Not good.

_"Oh thank Holy. Are you all right?"_

"Yeah, Reno. I'm all right. A little shaken but otherwise all right." The helicopter evens out for a brief few seconds before dipping sharply downwards in almost a spin. "Something's wrong."

_"You're….hit….Shinra…..Scarlet…"_

A warning light beeps frantically and the normal lights flicker out. I'm loosing altitude, and fast.

"Tseng," I try to keep my voice calm. "I've been hit."

_"Hit?"_ Surprise tints his voice, the sound of running boots filling the chasm of silence behind him. I could have sworn I heard Reeve in the background, equally surprised.

Buttons flash and eerie red light washes into the cockpit. Back up lights. I've lost my main power supply. Rain pounds the window in the fierce some war cry of the thunder. Or is it the blades making that sound? Everything begins to shake. On the radar, the light flashes menacingly once again.

"Reno! Rude!" Static answers my pleading inquiry for my comrades. I try it again, my heart thundering in my chest. Same results. A frigid shiver creeps along my spine at the realization - I'm going to die.

"Tseng," my voice trembles with the increased shaking and screech of metal breaking apart from further back. Heat creeps into the cockpit around me. "I'm going down."

Darkness, like a gaping chasm of stone laden teeth, lies before me, creeping closer with every split second that passes. I brace my feet against the steel structure of the pedals and wrestle with the controls once more, hoping, praying that somehow, they will respond. They do not.

I just hope that Reno and Rude had not been brought down with me.

Turks are not supposed to fear death. In fact, we're supposed to embrace it as a reward for our services over the years - a form of retirement even. But this, this is damn scary to me.

_"Cissnei!"_

Tseng sounds frantic and winded. He's been running, somewhere, probably his window to see what in the hell happened. I draw another shaky breath and watch the jagged rocks rise up around me.

The line goes dead with the deafening explosion of thunder.


	12. Smoke and Angels

**Well that super update did not go as planned. :) Sorry about the wait, I had some pretty rough computer problems and internet issues this past weekend (I blame Reno for it). I was only able to get this one chapter done for this fic and for those of you who follow "One Hundred Tiny Missions," you're going to have to wait until later this week for your latest mission. XP The computer ate it by accident. Sorry about the wait anyway. I'll try my best to get more updates in as soon as possible.**

**Meh, for some reason, I'm not too terribly happy with this chapter. I'm hoping that's just the writer in me being a prude though. Love it? Hate it? Let me know. I take criticism well.**

**Chapter Twelve - Smoke and Angels**

I have to get out of here. Now.

Flames snap at the leather seat to my left. Gauges sputter and warp, the plastic coating popping with the heat radiating through the cabin from the back of the downed helicopter.

The pungent scent of fuel permeates the air in a suffocating, deadly residue. There is not much time. I tug at the shoulder harness, blood dripping along my hands, cut from the shattered glass of the windshield coating everything and funneling oxygen into the heart of the fire.

I can't breathe. Damn this harness. I fumble through the oily, choking smoke and heat for the shuriken, my hands grasping something scalding hot. I draw back with a cry of surprise, the metal floor at the base of the controls red with hellish intent.

Damn it. The mako-rich fuel has turned to molten metal. In a few minutes, if that, this whole frame, whatever was not damaged in the collision, is going to collapse into the fire burning along the fuel lines, and with it, my only chance of survival. Where in the hell is my weapon when I need it the most?

My hands search through the broken glass for a sharp enough piece to cut through the thick, woven harness that some genius mechanical engineer decided needed to not only be thick enough to withstand an impact, but to also prevent the pilot from getting free in a hurry for some odd reason. Shinra at its finest. I am more than willing to bet that the helicopters used by the higher ups do not have this tiny, minuscule problem that our branch seems to have with safety issues.

Hell. The piece of glass shatters in the heat, cutting the flesh beneath by right eye. How did Reno get out of this thing when he first tried to escape from it after his first test run of this particular model? Something about a safety switch that doesn't exist. Great. No. I remember the engineer being pretty ticky about something Reno did in particular to this type of harness. Something clever he had made certain to add to all three Shinra Blackhawks the Turks were assigned out of spite.

That's it. He added a knife to the emergency compartment, which is right over- fire nips my hand from between the seats, forcing me closer to the door - there. Who in the hell designed this thing anyway? The emergency compartment is nowhere close to the pilot's seat.

The steel makes an ominous sound like that of collapsing stone and shale, more smoke filling the cockpit. Despite the blistering heat, I shiver. Not good. If I stay here any longer, I'm going to succumb to the smoke and heat and not even be able to even think about getting out of here. I struggle violently against the harness, my back against the door to watch the advancing flames. My right leg protests the arrangement, dragging a bit as I fight to draw my knees closer, away from the melting steel. How I've managed to survive this long is a mystery to me, but I know I don't have much longer. And when those flames reach the main mako fuel supply and breach the heat shield tank…It will burn hot and fast.

I don't want to die like this. The harness bites against my throat at my thrashing to avoid the inferno tapping at the fringe of my uniform. In a few seconds that too will ignite and it will all be over. I just wish the seconds would go quicker, not feel like the hours they are becoming.

Something grasps the collar of my uniform, hauling my body upwards. The tangled harness tightens around my neck, forcing me to cry out in weak protest. Not that I can do anything about it. I'm like an animal snared in a trap - destined to die today. The harness tightens again, snapping my head back to stare at the caving ceiling rimmed in smoke.

Let go of me! I kick feebly at the flames and struggle to strike the offending hands tugging at the harness, preventing the oxygen from reaching my lungs. A jumbled slew of words fill the air in frantic succession, the harness painfully taunt.

The voice is male - difficult to understand - but definitely male. He's yelling something that I cannot seem to grasp completely. When had the flames grown darker? I raise my hand to strike once again, but am only able to raise it a few inches this time before it falls limp against the seat.

So this is how it ends? Survive the crash, only to be strangled by the harness? At least…A shudder wracks my body at the pain in my lungs. At least I won't feel the flames. I force my eyes shut at the pain.

I…I just do not want to die yet. A lone tear sneaks past my eyelid, trailing along my hot skin. Not here. Not like this.

The harness slackens a bit, something cold brushing against my skin. More inaudible muttering. Almost as if he's scared too. I wish I could understand just what he was saying to me, but the roar of the fire is making things worse than they already are.

Zack…

The fire dances and leaps across my vision like the hellfire of Ifrit.

I'm sorry Shinra got away with murdering you and Cloud. I'm sorry for everything…

There is a loud snap and the fire recedes from my vision, my body falling into darkness.

The ground is cool, and wet, the stagnant air frigid compared to the fire. It burns my throat and scalds my lungs with each rattling breath my body fights to draw in, but never has being able to breathe felt so good.

Someone is standing over me, shielding me from the explosion of molten steel and glass thundering through the night canyon air. Their breath lingers heavy by my ear, as though, they too are wounded. A calloused hand brushes my auburn hair out of my eyes and cradles me closer.

I…I'm still alive. His blurry, soot-laden image hangs in the night air against the flames devouring the helicopter. I struggle to move, to sit up for a better look at his face, but he gently presses my shoulders to the ground and shakes his head with something that sounds like, "Don't move."

He sounds just like Zack. But that can't be. Zack is dead. Zack was buried atop the ridge. But yet, this person, this person is him.

An angel?

But I don't see any wings.

His hand reaches for my front left breast pocket. Oh no you don't. He hesitates at my weakened strike. Just because you pulled me from what was going to be my coffin does not give you permission to touch anything that I say you cannot touch.

For several seconds, his hand hovers, waiting for something. I can hear my own breathing, shaky and pained against the frigid rain mingling with his. He's afraid of something.

And then he changes his mind, retrieving my ID card with the dexterity of a thief. For a moment, he seemingly reads it, a sense of judgment hanging in the air. Another shiver wracks my body. He's going to kill me because I'm a Turk. I just know it.

My shuriken lies about a foot to my left, and even if I felt like it, I don't think I have the strength to even pick it up to defend myself.

He pockets my ID card and shakes his head, moving closer. Here we go. I close my eyes and await the worse. But, instead, I feel the air whisk by my head, strong arms drawing me from the ground and against his chest.

Daffodils. Just like the fragrance Zack once wore. I always hated that scent. Too flowery for a guy, especially a SOLDIER to wear. He mutters something that sounds like, "You're going to be okay." And repeats it to convince himself of the lie. If there was ever one thing that Tseng hated most, it was hearing any of us repeat something not true to ourselves as though it was a carved-in-stone, solid fact.

That one phrase is the only thing keeping me going right now.

I'm going to be okay...


	13. Blonde Hair and Blue Eyes

**Whoa. What a week it has been. Busy busy busy. Anyway, I'm going to try to update this frequently as time permits (probably on weekends and possibly Wednesdays.) Those following "One Hundred Tiny Missions" can expect updates on weekends and Mondays, as well as whenever this one gets updated. Seeing as my lazy little muse keeps getting sidetracked though, that is subject the change.**

**(Walter is what I named the Slums Doctor in this version. I have to warn you a little bit about Walter's mouth in this chapter though - he's not exactly known for his roses and water form of speaking if you know what I mean.)**

**Chapter Thirteen - Blonde Hair and Blue Eyes**

This must be how Reno felt when he was 'abducted' by aliens that one time he was late for his morning patrol. Only, instead of stealing my pants and dousing me in alcohol, they had done some serious damage to my right leg and tried to set me on fire. Reno and I must not have met the same aliens. I wonder if his spoke in the 'Gya ha ha' and 'Kya ha ha' fashion as well.

I rub the thick bandage around my right hand with a wince and lean against the uncomfortable burlap pillow. Everything happened so fast. One minute, it had been raining, and the next, I was being tended to by a scruffy old man with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other.

I am either one of the luckiest people on the planet, or one of the unluckiest. Take your pick.

'Walter,' as he claims his name is, shuffles through his daily routine of examining whatever patients walk through the cardboard door of this little shack. Some have minor cuts that will no doubt be life-threatening in the near future. Others, have what I can only describe as the beginnings of mako poisoning. They stagger and grumble about aches and pains, bruises, and strange metallic tastes in their mouths. Walter, Holy bless his soul, tries his best to find them and himself a cure - most often at the bottom of the bottle.

Hell, I'd drink too if I was him.

"Some asshole tried to blow up another reactor again the other night," he takes a swig of the liquor. "That goddamn AVALANCHE, goin' and killin' us all. Claim they're helpin' the planet. Well who the 'ell cares 'bout that planet when we're all stuck down here dyin' from simple cuts and scrapes while them big wigs up there watch us suffer. Ain't nothin' them terrorists gonna do to 'elp us. 'Specially when that damn reactor took out one fourth of Sector Three. Vaporized 'em all and sickened a lot more. You're lucky you got away with what you did."

AVALANCHE. So they are still at it after all of these years. I can only imagine just what happened. A mismanaged explosive that had exploded the reactor outward instead of inward. A simple wire crossed at the wrong time and place. Someone who had no clue just what they were doing.

I shudder at the thought. Not even Tseng dares to touch those recovery missions. That was SOLDIER's problem. But still, the thought is enough to make AVALANCHE our issue to deal with and no doubt, they are busy this morning combing the rest of Midgar for the culprits. At least I hope so. Reno and Rude had been flying too close for comfort when that missile hit.

"You okay?" Walter asks.

"Yes." Lying, one of my specialties.

He raises an eyebrow and checks the bandage around my hand once again.

"Gonna sting for a little bit. Long as it stays uninfected, you'll be fine," his eyes narrow. "Just how close were you to the reactor anyways?"

Apparently, not close enough. I try to come up with something that makes sense, but the material is just not there. How do you tell someone like Walter that you're a Turk who was injured in a crash caused by your own superiors outside of Midgar?

"Uh, well, I'm not exactly certain. One minute I was walking home and the next-" It really is not a lie. I was on my way back to headquarters. "How did I get here?"

Walter takes another swig of the liquor. "Some fella with blonde hair and blue eyes. Looked pretty damn roughed up too. Had a big sword with him and was dressed in black. Said somethin' I couldn't really understand. If any fella was sufferin' from mako poisoning, it was him."

Blond hair and blue eyes…A sword…

"Offered to try to help him, but he-"

It could not be. He would have died before they reached the ridge. And the Shinra Military would have…

"Fella left for Sector Five's train station. Not sure where he was goin' but he seemed determined to get there."

Sector Five. Aerith lives there. And with Zack being dead, and Reno and Rude, assuming they survived, knowing about this…

"I'm grateful for the help, Walter, but I really need to get back home." Before Tseng and the boys manage to catch up with Cloud in Sector Eight or some other ungodly place we've been known to lurk. That will end badly, especially since he has _my_ key card and I'm more than likely considered Killed In Action until I either show up and sign some paperwork, or they find my body.

I think I'll take the paperwork.

I reach into the tiny leather pouch I carry upon my belt, thankful that it is still with me and locate the tiny piece of materia I seek. Pressing it into Walter's clumsy hands, I manage to stagger several steps before my right leg decide it will be cute and start to throb.

So walking is going to be a little tougher from now on. I can live with it.

The old man continues to stare at the piece of fully mastered Curaga materia, a tiny bit more sober than I have seen him my entire time here. From the looks of it, this is the first useful payment he has ever recieved. A tiny tear tugs at the corner of his eyes, the foreign liquid starting to trail downwards.

That should help him heal his patients a bit more efficiently. It is the least I can do for the poor guy.

"Thank you."

I manage a smile and limp into the Sector Three Slums. What can I say, we don't all shoot you out of the sky and then blow things up without a good reason. At least, the Turks don't want to anyway.


	14. The Don's Turf

**Chapter Fourteen - The Don's Turf**

It was the whispers trickling down from the upper plates that first alerted me that something huge was happening with Shinra. At first, I had begun to walk down the scrap metal littered excuse for a street en route to the closest train station in hopes of catching one to the upper plates; but the group of adults gathered around the piece of soiled newspaper that must have fallen through the drainage bars above made me think twice.

Call it Turk intuition.

It was then that I found myself ducking behind the nearest rusty barrel to wait until they grew bored with the piece of paper and moved on to the next part of their morning survival routine - gathering whatever scraps they could to fashion into items those above the plates would purchase out of either pity of interest.

The paper lay in the murky water, useless to those who already tried to read it. I pick it up and scan the headlines.

It is official. Scarlet and Heidegger have overstepped their boundaries this time.

I crumple the paper and step into the shadows as several more citizens of this particular area appear, chatting about life and work in their slum jargon. Looks like I better get comfortable with this way of life. Returning to Shinra is not an option.

I can only imagine what Tseng is thinking this morning. One of _his_ Turks, a _convicted _murderer of SOLDIER First Class Zackary Fair, and suspected in the disappearance of infantryman, Cloud Strife, after all of these years, as well as the _attempted_ murder of two fellow Turks. Funny, I don't remember killing or even trying to kill any of them, and I remember everyone I've killed over the years. It's what makes me so damn good at my job unfortunately.

And why they are not even trying to cover any of this up is beyond me. Wait. Never mind the fact that they're using me as a scapegoat to cover up the fact that they dealt away with everyone who could possibly expose their little three ring circus of politics. And now they need to deal away with me, because, quite frankly, having someone with my security clearance, computer hacking skills, and knowledge of Shinra could pose a bit of a problem should I ever feel 'compelled' to be pissed off about this whole ordeal.

And well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but slaughtering a dear friend with a battalion of butchers and then shooting me out of the sky with a missile are not recommended ways to get on my good side.

My fingers brush the paper's water-stained surface once more. There it is - everything spelled out in that manipulative writing with the Shinra logo at the top, complete with a color picture of the culprit. Go figure.

I need find a way to buy some time and get the hell out of here before anyone recognizes me. And Cloud. I need to find Cloud before Hojo's lackies, or more correctly, my co-workers decide that this mission is a necessity.

A crumbled building provides a brief shelter from any prying eyes and for a moment, I swear I see a Shinra infantryman - two of them actually - patrolling the one corner where I originally found the piece of paper declaring me a wanted traitor. So Scarlet, Heidegger, and Mr. Shinra himself want to play this game eh?

If Shinra wants to screw with my mind, then I am obligated to screw with theirs. And I intend on enjoying every bloody second of it. We'll see what more than sixteen years of secrets can do.

Wall Market, the only place where you can enter as one person and leave as another. I don't expect it to be a perfect fix, but it will have to do until I can figure something else out.

Bright lights and neon signs cast the crowded area in a sleazy glow. Men drunk on lust scour the area for anything overlooked and in a sense, easy to catch for their darkest desires. This is Don Corneo's turf and when he plays the field, anything so long as it is female, or looks remotely female is fair game for the conquest.

A chill wind creeps through the area from somewhere to my left. The last time I was here on a mission, Tseng and Rude accompanied me. Never before had I seen a mild mannered man like Tseng carry a gun in plain view the entire time we were here. He even fired it a few times at one of the more lecherous men who dared to step within ten feet of our little group. The saying was, that you do whatever you have to do to survive in a place like this, regardless of who gets killed. Nice guys eh?

I trade my blazer for a muddy woolen cloak, discard my tie for a decent scrap of cloth to keep my unkempt hair out of my eyes. I figure with all of the dust and shadows of the slums, whatever shade of auburn my hair was when I was with Shinra, is probably not even close now. With a little bit of luck, I'll be able to pass for a regular.

Now, if only I can secure some sort of weapon, seeing as mine was either left behind at the crash site or pawned by Walter. I guess I'll see what weapons might be available in this region then. The worst I could do would be to end up using a random scrap pipe in battle.

Fortunately, I remember being warned about that damn overactive and oversensitive machine gun in the area of the one item store and head for the rough excuse for a flea market stall, where some guy named Butch is selling whatever he found lying around or more so cheated out of his customers.

I stop to browse, uncertain of what junk weapon I can find suitable enough for me to use.

Metal sword. No. Pistol. Potential, but highly unlikely I would be able to find proper ammo for it. Nun chucks. Oh hell no. Spear. What kind of person carries a spear through town? An umbrella shanghaied from Costa del Sol…I might have laughed at the prospect of it being a suitable weapon but Zack Fair blew that whole theory when he managed to beat off a bunch of frogmen that day. Forget I even asked. Lightly rusted crimson shuriken. Wait a second. That mark in the metal looks familiar.

I inspect it a little closer. Yeah, it met the Buster Sword all right. And it doesn't take long for rust to accumulate when it is drenched in water and just left like that.

Tseng's theory about this damn thing following me home is probably not half off. It's kinda creepy how he does that sometimes.

"How much for the shuriken?"

The man raises an eyebrow at my inquiry and picks the weapon up. "You know what in the hell this thing is?"

I've only used one, that one, for most of my career with the Turks, genius. If I don't know what my weapon is called by now, I'm the one who should be behind that table. And if you look a little bit closer, you'll see that it was custom forged and my initials are right underneath of its name.

"It's supposed to be a cursed throwing weapon for ranged attacks, but this rust here brings down the accuracy and value." Of course, I probably could have told him it was a can opener for Holy's sake and he would have believed it.

Still enough, at the mention of it being cursed, he seemed to sweat a bit. "Er, cursed you say? Just how cursed?"

Finally, an opportunity to be creative and test out my new persona.

I lean my elbow against the table with a smirk. "Well, just between you and me, I heard that this particular weapon houses the spirit of a person who betrayed Shinra. A former employee for that fact, and well, the rumor running through the ranks is that this weapon was a part of the deaths of three powerful SOLDIERs and their spirits are out to slay whoever owns this weapon."

"You're kidding."

"Tell that to the last owner of this weapon. See this red on the edges?" I point out the crimson inlaid into the steel to prove my point. "This is supposedly the blood of everyone who owned this weapon since the person who slew the SOLDIERs."

"Holy, this weapon is cursed!"

I turn to walk away, but he stops me. "How much you willing to offer for it?"

Just what I wanted to hear. "How about 25 gil?"

"Good enough. Just get it the hell out of here before those SOLDIERs shows up."

The only thing I intend to keep from my old life as Cissnei of the Turks is my shuriken. And even that is sketchy at best. Still. It is something familiar. Something I need to survive out here. But for now, I just want to find a place to keep a low profile until I can figure out where to go next.

"Well, well, well. Look what the chimera dragged in." A squat man with dusty brown hair and mud staining his loose clothing steps into my path from behind one of the piles of rubble.

The slight disturbance in the air to my left alerts me of a second man - a tall, muscular brawler. The ever-so-slight click from behind tells me more than I care to know about the third.

The thugs circle with sinister intent in their eyes. Two sets of grimy hands draw switchblades, the third clicks the safety off of a pistol. I casually grasp the shuriken and watch my foes' movements out of the corner of my eyes. Practiced criminals. But they've never tangled with a pedigree watchdog before either.

"Heh heh. A helpless little girl, all alone in this section of town. The Don would pay a nice amount for this little filly." The squat one steps closer, but I take a half step away. He stops and smirks, showing his tobacco stained teeth. "And feisty too. Just how he likes them."

The taller man to my left lunges forward, switchblade slipping through the air. But I am quicker, ducking and jabbing my elbow into his sternum and bringing my knee against his stomach. He goes down without much of a fight, leaving the remaining two thoroughly pissed off and advancing closer.

I hardly consider myself a helpless little girl. Do not ever call me one again.

My hand throbs as I whip the shuriken at the man with the pistol and lunge for the squat man with the switchblade.

A crack of the pistol shatters the air, a piece of steel shattering close by. That was a little too close for comfort.

"Damn little-"

I swing my left leg against his and wrench the arm with the knife back enough to dislocate his shoulder, listening to him yelp in surprise as he falls to the ground. This is not a good day to piss me off boys. Not a good day at all. He drops to the ground with a whimper, and I look towards the last man.

Go ahead, make my day.

The man once wielding the pistol stares at me with uncertainty, clutching his bleeding hand, and somewhat in shock at his companions' demises. As I take one limping closer to retrieve my shuriken, he turns and flees.

There is a glimpse of someone standing in the shadows.

For a moment, the rounder, shorter man in the red suspenders, beige shirt, and bandanna studies me, as though I am some sort of livestock up for auction. But something seems different about this one.

As the sound of the Shinra infantrymen rattles the area, he steps forward, undeterred by the shuriken and grasps me by the wrist. I instinctively move to make him think twice about that, but he gestures to the infantryman and drags me into the shadows of the alleyway from which he had appeared.

"You have got to come with me right now."


	15. Meeting Mr Wallace

**Wow, I actually managed to get this update done earlier than I anticipated. Cool. :) With any hope, the writing muse is back from her mental vacation and I can actually get stuff written and posted on a nice schedule. Heh, me, on a decent schedule? Oh well, there's always a slim chance. Right?**

**Chapter Fifteen - Meeting Mr. Wallace**

The more than slightly overweight man in the tan tattered shirt and patched jeans with crimson suspenders surprised me with his expertise for finding the quickest way through the slums. Whether it was from years of never seeing the sunlight, or just his general appearance, no one seemed to pay us much mind as he sauntered through Sector Six's streets without a questioning look from anyone.

In all honesty, he reminds me a bit of Rude in some weird, strange way. The kind of guy no one messes with, only without the sunglasses and he has hair, albeit messy and unkempt. The kind of guy who wears a thick shell when amongst strangers, but is friendly and open when you really get to know him.

The same shell I'm sure I have right now.

A drunkard raises an eyebrow, shouting lewd comments towards us, to which the short, fat man replies with a smile and a, "How've ya been, Charles" sort of greeting and continues on his way. I hurry to catch up, not wanting to get caught in a place I've never even heard of. Reno and Rude always handled this part of town while Tseng and I took turns with Sector Five.

I would hate to see the place at night.

My boot barely misses the prone body lying in the puddle of liquid I do not even want to think about. As though sensing my discomfort, the fat man gestures towards the metallic archway of scrap metal in the distance. Apparently, dead bodies are everyday occurrences here.

A shudder races along my spine and I hurry after him. Why is it easy to look at the dead like this, but when you're standing in the rain burying your friend it is so difficult?

The fat man stops and points to something in the distance with a smile of pride. I follow his gaze past the scurrying citizens trying to trade with the local shops before they close or raise the prices once again.

_Seventh Heaven_, the only building still remotely inhabitable amidst the wreckage of the city around it.

I've come this far. I might as well see just what this guy wants from me. My hand grasps the shuriken harder, the metal grating against my leather half-gloves and follow him up the warped porch steps.

"For the love of Holy, Wedge!"

"Whoa whoa whoa, Biggs. Calm down, man!" He steps in front of me before the taller man in the leather jacket can shoot me with the .45 in his hands. My shuriken reflects the dull light seeping in through the windows.

If you fire upon me, this weapon will not leave you unscathed either.

For a moment, we glare, like hostile mongoose and viper in the same den. His calloused finger twitches on the trigger despite the attempts of the man known as Wedge to calm the situation. My shuriken stands firm, even a little confident.

"What is going on here?" a female voice, like a judgmental sword, pierces the air. Her hazel eyes see the gun in Biggs's hand.

With one swift motion, she knocks the weapon from his grasp and stands over him with a growl of anger. "We don't point guns at customers!"

Biggs picks himself off of the ground with a snarl in response. "Wedge here is jeopardizing everything again by bringing strangers where they are not wanted!"

"I have a good reason this time!"

"Like the last person you brought here?" He storms across the floor, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Holy hell we lost eight people and most of Sector Three! Damn idiot did not know a red wire from a blue wire! What if it had been Sector Seven? Then you'd be telling the boss that his little girl was dead because of you!"

Sector Three? Something tells me I am not going to like this at all. If these people are who I think they are, I'm in some serious trouble.

The woman in the tank top and way too short shorts steps between the brewing conflict. "How about we let Barret sort this out when he gets back?"

"Yeah, well I'm running out of places to put the bodies. I get any closer to the upper plates and Shinra will be all over this place like a fly on shit."

"Biggs! Watch you language! Marlene is around here," she warns. I lowered my shuriken at the sight of the little brown-haired girl peering around the corner, shy, yet curious of what is going on. These people are monsters to be bringing children into their little sect.

Something nags at the back of my mind, like the type of thought that plagues you when you see someone on the street you know but cannot remember the name to.

Didn't Shinra do the same thing with me?

"But it's the god damn awful truth!"

"Enough, Biggs. We wait for Barret to get back, and then we'll deal with this."

A half of a hour of nothing but uncomfortable silence. In all honesty, the man known as Biggs is pissed at me being here. The furious click of his glass against the bar counter is evidence enough. Had it not been for the little girl trailing at the woman's heels like a little lost puppy and Wedge, the sacrificial lamb, sitting directly in the field of fire, there is little doubt he would decide to finish our little spat from earlier.

He's a little like Reno in a way, impulsive and doesn't quite always think things through. I must have hit my head a little bit harder than I thought when that helicopter crashed.

There is a creak of the rusty-hinged door swinging open, heavy boots striking the floor in a lumbering tread. At first, I don't bother to even look to see who entered the bar. But, as the seconds go by, and Wedge uncomfortably arranges the bar peanuts in an interesting pattern, I get the feeling that I'll know soon enough who is approaching.

"Wedge started it."

The pudgy man slams a fist against the wood and glares at his comrade, a little bit offended by the accusation. "He wanted to shoot first and then ask questions."

"What in the hell did you do now?" the gruff accent of Corel tints this man's voice and I know I have heard it before.

Before anyone can get thrown across the bar or shot at, the woman in the tank top ushers little Marlene out of the room and steps between the group members, holding both hands up towards the dark-skinned man with the machine gun grafted into his right arm. For a moment, I weigh my options, my heart beating a little bit quicker than normal.

"Now, Barret, don't be mad. Wedge didn't mean any harm."

Yep, I'm screwed.

"You damn fool!" He swings his good arm at Wedge and catches him alongside the jaw, sending him sprawling against the bar. "You don't bring strangers here! Shinra's got a shitload of spies lurking around here and all it takes is one screw up for them to move in and kill every one of yas!"

"Wait," I step closer to the man known as Barret before he can strike Wedge again. "He's not to blame for this. I am."

For the first time, I hope I appear more confident than I look. After all, I'm standing here in the middle of a seedy little slum bar, staring up at the leader of AVALANCHE himself, Barret Wallace, and claiming that I did not get dragged here by Wedge, at least not accidentally. If this fails, I'll be on the first train to the Lifestream and probably, maybe be seeing Zack before sunset. Sorry Zack, but right now, I kinda sorta don't want that.

"Who in the god awful hell are you supposed to be?" Great, now he's pointing his gun arm at me.

Forget short-fused temper, this guy doesn't even have a fuse to light. It just goes right into auto fire.

A bullet flicks by my shoulder, a liquor bottle exploding behind me. Strangely enough, I don't feel compelled to move. I've been trained not to.

The woman in the tank top approaches, looking every bit as angry as a mother chocobo who's chicks have been threatened. "Enough, Barret."

He, of course, completely ignores her and fires a few more rounds around me.

"Now that was just rude," I can't help but remark when he lowers the gun arm, albeit suspiciously. "Do you greet everyone you meet by shooting at them?"

Judging by the amount of bullet holes in the walls, there is more truth to that statement that I want to admit. Two words buddy - Anger Management. A few courses might help boost recruitment a little bit.

"What's yer name?"

Name? I hadn't thought much about that. Then again, what were the odds of standing in the presence of the leader of AVALANCHE still alive this long? Slightly lower than a snowball's chance in Hades. Wonderful.

I glare, pretending to be offended, and try to think of something that makes sense. "First you shoot at me, and now you're asking my name? I don't suppose non-violent introductions are covered in the terrorist handbook then?"

Sarcasm, another Turk specialty. I take a casual step to Barret's left, effectively preventing him from firing his weapon randomly again, lest he want to strike either of his colleagues. "I understand you're trying to save the planet? Am I right?"

If I can keep him focused on that, I might be able to get out of revealing anything I don't want to about my life as a Turk. That is none of his business.

For a moment, he appears almost puzzled, but I'm sure this is the calm before the storm. I can feel the tension brewing.

"God damn Shinra, sucking the life from the planet! Ain't gonna be nothing left if we don't do something about it!"

Yipes, looks like I touched a nerve. "I take it from the papers that your attempts to stop them aren't going well."

Looks like I'm about to win the stupidest question award of the year. Oh well, too late to back down now.

"How come you're so interested in us all of a sudden?" Biggs waves that damn gun of his again.

I cross my arms across my chest and casually lean against the bar counter, taking most of the weight off of my injured leg. "You're not the only ones with a grudge against Shinra."

For a moment, that seems to suffice.

"Alright Wedge, why'd ya lead someone like her here?"

"If you would have seen what she did to Corneo's boys…Man, you should have seen their faces," He smiles boldly, as though fondly recalling something. "A woman beating the shit out of them."

"You made a judgment based upon a brawl?" he swings the gun arm around at the shorter man. "Holy hell yer're pathetic!"

This time, the woman in the tank top does manage to get in on this. "Perhaps we're not getting the whole story, Barret."

"I don't wanna hear it, Tifa! This numb-skulljust gave me another murder to commit!"

"Will you please stop yelling. The walls are cardboard thin and Marlene is around here. If you're going to kill someone, do it outside of the bar and save me the trouble of cleaning up after you this time."

"And bury your own bones. I ain't hauling anyone outta town tonight," Biggs adds, a little too proud of his job for my liking. Definitely a Reno moment.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Wallace-"

"You shut the hell up!"

Alright, that's it. Shooting at me is one thing, but telling me to shut up like that is a whole other ballgame.

I step towards him once again. "Look, Shinra is not going to take what's left of AVALANCHE seriously if you cannot even seem to blow up a simple reactor and do actual damage enough to disrupt the power grid."

Biggs leans lazily against the bar and takes a swig of his liquor. "We obliterated a good chunk of Sector Three though. That got their attention."

I scowl at the comment. "True, but do you realize that Shinra will just switch it back on and go on with their lives as though nothing happened? You only put a minor dent in that reactor's shell. And, you managed to successfully give everyone within a four mile radius mako poisoning. Who do you think is more hurt in that situation, Shinra or the planet's inhabitants whom you were supposed to protect?"

The woman named Tifa seems a bit appalled at the prospect, even looking a little guilty about it. For once, I think I might have successfully taken control of the situation at hand.

Even Barret looks a little disheartened at my cruel words. Good, let him think about this for a little bit. I meant every word exactly as spoken. And if I must, I will leave on that note. I'm not in the mood to be dealing with people like this today. I've got a Head of Weapons Research to murder.

After several seconds, to my surprise, it is Biggs who speaks first. "Why are you really here, aside from Wedge's incompetent judgement skills?"

For once, I think I have the correct answer, the first honest one in a long time. I look away from Barret and close my eyes. "Shinra murdered a dear friend of mine in cold blood, and a faulty Mako Reactor exploded and took most of his hometown with it. All I've got left are the clothes on my back and these wounds given to me by that company's negligence. Tell me why I should not be here?"


	16. The Name Game

**What do you know, the muse is back and working overtime to make up for the lack of updates recently. Heh, imagine that. Anyway, here is another chapter for ya'll and I hope you enjoy it. ****Extra cookies to whoever can tell me where Cissnei's name game part might have come from. :)**

**Chapter Sixteen - The Name Game**

I should have known that Barret would butcher whatever name I told him with that temper of his, but not like this. Hell, I would hate to see what he would have done had I told him my name is Cissnei. Holy only knows what he might have gotten out of that one.

"What in the hell was it again? Jash, Jish-"

"Jesshera," I calmly reply. "My name is Jesshera."

What's in a name anyway? It had taken a trip into the deep recesses of my memory to get that far. I remember once hacking the Shinra computers on my lunch break our of sheer boredom, something Rude saying prompting me to do it. It had been about my parents, or more so, lack of them. Whatever the heck he had said to me made me all the more determined to find out just what he had meant by it.

Apparently, Shinra, or more accurately, the oh-so-mighty Tseng, had decided that the name I had been born with was not going to be the same one I would eventually die with. It had only taken a split second for me to commit it to memory once I had found it in the 10 million files on people born and raised in the Midgar Region.

"Can ya spell that fer me?"

I have to give him credit, he's trying his damnedest to figure it out and get it right. Not that Biggs and Wedge are any better at the name game. So far this morning I've been called everything from 'Hey you with the pointy star thingy' and 'gimpy limpy' to my personal favorite, 'Never mind, yer name will now be Bobisca.' Holy only knows why they wanted to call me Bobisca, but I shudder at how Biggs and Wedge might have gotten their names. Were they always Biggs and Wedge? Or something like Roy and Enrique?

Hell, at this rate, I won't even remember what name Tseng has called me by for the past sixteen years. But something has to be done or I'll end up being '_Bobita-isca-oh hell just call me hey you with the star thingy limping person better yet never mind my name is actually Female Turk, er, former Turk, never mind that last part at all, with the shuriken, or better yet how about Shuriken-Female'_ by the end of the day.

In all honesty, it's not a very difficult name, just, overly Kalm-ish in nature. Apparently, anything three syllables or over is a bit of a stretch in this region. Whoever the hell had named me must have had either high expectations or doubts about whether or not I'd end up gender confused in the future. Or, worse yet, perhaps they were gender confused themselves and didn't know what in the hell I was supposed to be, therefore picking a gender ambiguous name that confused Tseng enough, or scared him more likely, into eventually turning it to just Cissnei. I can only shudder at the thought.

But, at least they didn't name me something dumb like Cloud's parents did. I can only imagine how military boot camp went for him.

I sigh and glance towards Barret, who is still sounding out Jesshera, and trying to make it sound remotely close. "How about you just call me Jessie?"

Tifa continues to wipe down the counter of the bar with a smile. Do I really sound that desperate in my request? Then again…I wonder what Barret called her when they first met? But, unlike Reno, I would never say something like that out loud. I've better sense than that.

Biggs lumbers through the door, still wiping the sleep from his eyes and looking a little hung over from his drinking last night. But at least he's not trying to shoot me this time.

And Wedge, poor zombified Wedge. He sits there trying to comprehend his breakfast and just what he's doing out of bed so early in the morning.

Hmph, like 7:30 is early. I've been getting up at 4:00 each bloody morning since Tseng adopted me into the Turks and you don't hear me complaining about it.

"Jessie. It's a hell of a lot better than that other name of yers."

I sigh and continue wrapping my wounded hand with the bandage Tifa was nice enough to give to me. Nice Barret. You keep trying to remember it.

With any luck he'll stop repeating it aloud by next year.

"You all right, Jessie?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a little sore is all."

"You looked lost for a moment."

Damn, Tifa is going to be the observant one I see. Better watch myself around her.

She glances down at my wound and winces. "Ouch. Why didn't you say you burnt it that bad? I'll go see what I have for it."

Maybe because I didn't know myself 'Oh so Observant One.' It's not like I was cooking supper and grabbed the pan while it was hot. I didn't ask for this to happen like it did.

"I'm fine." The last thing I want is someone hovering over me like a mother chocobo. Holy, Tseng was bad enough with that as it was.

"Are you sure? It looks pretty painful."

"She says she fine, she's fine," Biggs scoots a little closer and nudges me with his elbow. "Tifa's a little overprotective at times. Heh, you should see what she did with Wedge the one time he scraped his knee."

The overweight one sighs. "Yeah, I wasn't allowed to walk for a week."

Tifa slams her hand against the bar, making the glasses rattle. "I hardly think coming home with half your flesh missing is a little scraped knee!"

Biggs chuckles at the comment. "See what I mean? You get used to it after a while."

"Pay them no attention, Jessie. They're idiots."

No comment on my behalf there.

"So, Jessie," Barret's still a little hesitant on if he's got the name right. "What do ya think you can do to benefit AVALANCHE?"

Not this again. I casually finish tying my bandage. "What have you got for me to work with?"

"Er, some maps and stuff of reactors and Midgar."

And we call _this _the terror of Midgar. Please tell me Tifa or Biggs is in charge of everything. I look towards Tifa with that question in mind.

"Come on Barret, go show her what she has to work with."

"Yeah, if she's gonna be part of the gang, she might as well see everything."

Wedge raises an eyebrow as Barret walks over towards the pinball machine in the corner. "You guys sure about this?"

"Having second thoughts," Biggs chides him. "She's your little recruit."

A few seconds later, we're standing by the pinball machine and Biggs flips the little flipper things a few times as though actually playing. Reno would love this. A split second later, the floor jerks beneath us.

They turned a pinball machine into an elevator? Clever. Shinra could take a lesson from these guys.

We arrive at a surprisingly sophisticated room. Cluttered, but sophisticated.

"This is where most of the planning and mission briefing takes place."

Not bad for a group thrown together like it is. I browse the area, noticing the map of Midgar pinned to the wall with all sorts of markings, highlights, arrows, and other stuff scrawled upon it. Elfe's work by the looks of it. The monitor of a television to pick up the Shinra news channel leans in the corner nearby, several overturned crates and boxes lined around a small table to watch. But, right now that is not my major concern.

I step over to the computer tucked away in the corner and tap one of the ancient keys. It's one of the old T34-A65 models, a legend in its time, but virtually untraceable. Or at least it will be once I get a hold of its internal hard drive, make some minor adjustments, and then hijack the Shinra information super highway.

"So what do you think, Jessie? Anything you can use?" Wedge notices my interest in the computer.

"Not sure yet." I reach around the back of the ancient machine and fiddle with some of the wires, jiggling one to the right and the other three to the left. A satisfying click is my reward, followed by the ambient chime as the screen lights up and the dull mako-like greenish color floods across the keyboard.

Let's see what we've got here. I pull up a crate and take a seat before the monitor, browsing the interesting assortment of files already in existence from former AVALANCHE operatives. For as much stress as those bastards put us Turks under for that brief amount of time, they really don't have all that much aside from a few old codes to work from and a schedule of infantry patrols.

And apparently a list of everyone who was in AVALANCHE and recently deceased. Looks like Barret is fairly new to this as well as Biggs, Wedge, and Tifa. No wonder he's a little behind the times. Whomever was here before me tried to delete everything in a hurry from the looks of it.

My fingers tap the keys in silence - Wedge watching over my shoulder out of curiosity. In the reflection of the monitor, I can see that Barret is confused beyond reason and Biggs has lost interest and is now over in the corner beating up a punching bag. Good, the less I have to explain the better.

The screen wavers at a stray electrical current coursing through the line. Just a few more numbers to change and I'll be right in the Shinra database. There we go.

That hideous sideways crimson square stares back with a directory underneath of it listing everyone involved with the company. Getting in was the easy part. Getting what I want is going to the difficult part. Now I have to be really careful, lest Barret is smarter than he acts and Wedge has a good memory.

I scroll down the list of departments and employees until I see the Shinra Employee Log In area tucked away at the bottom. For good measure, I give the one wire a nice fragile kick, watching the screen dim for a fraction of a second. A few more times on different names adds character. As though making a complex selection, I painstakingly type in my employee ID number and password, clicking the enter key before Wedge can comprehend what is going on.

And my entire profile, mailbox, files, and anything else you ever wanted to know about me shows up on the screen…Damn, looks like I've got thirty six e-mails - seven of which happen to be current mission briefings forwarded by Tseng. Looks like he forgot to remove me from his mailing list by accident.

"How'd you do that?" Barret's even interested now that I'm in my own account. I'm sorry, let me rephrase that. I'm in Cissnei's account. Having a double life is harder than it looks. Thankfully, the only thing not listed in my profile is my birth name. That would have been a bad issue to contend with.

"Did I forget to mention my specialty is hacking databases?"

"Cool," Wedge seems hypnotized by this whole thing. Or maybe it's just the brightly colored monitor, or the virtual bamboo plant tucked away in the corner of my profile. Heh, I wonder if Reno still has that herd of virtual antelope he felt compelled to adopt and accidentally found a way to breed until they covered his screen and began devouring his memos when they turned into a virus. Rude kept on him for the longest time and we were finding virtual antelopes everywhere in the company system for months. Good times. Good times.

Virtual plants and pixilated animals aside, it's time to get down to business. I drag the little pointer across the screen to my e-mail and scan the dates. The most recent is today at 6:00. Tseng's predictable, as usual.

But I'm not interested in my former colleagues missions - yet. I leave the e-mails untouched and raid my information folders. Everything and anything I can get my little paws on in three minutes is fair game.

"So," Barret peers closer and taps the monitor with the fingers of his good hand. "You're in Shinra's computers eh?"

I gingerly move his fingertips away from the screen. "Don't touch that. And yes, we're in the Shinra database."

"Can't they see what you're doing or whatnot?" Wedge inquires, recognizing the little symbol beside my name. "Hey Biggs! Check this out."

The unbearable grumbling and grudging approach reach my ears. "Holy shit, you've gotten into the Turks' information database."

He glances down at me in disbelief as though I've done nothing short of the impossible.

Notes, lessons, handbooks, maps, charts, profiles - all merge seamlessly into the folders I designate for them. When I get to the file folder labeled **SOLDIER Reconnaissance **regarding my assignment to 'keep an eye on' one First Class Zackary Fair, I hesitate.

"How do you know what's what?"

"I don't," I lie and rearrange several folders around the one involving Zack. "But I didn't get this far by being picky about what looks useful and what looks like junk."

Picky is exactly what I'm being right now.

The thud of tiny feet running across floorboards echoes from the ceiling above and Barret glances upwards. Marlene must be up and Tifa getting her ready for the day. I seize the opportunity to finish transferring the files I know I'll need, allowing the pointer to once again rest upon Zack's folder.

And click the delete button.


	17. Chasing Shadows

**Chapter Seventeen - Chasing Shadows**

"Jessie." Tifa sets a folded piece of paper atop my pile of notes and diagrams. "I need you and Biggs to run to Sector Six for me this morning."

Of all people pestering me this morning about this and that, this is the first time since my arrival that Tifa has approached me about anything aside from my wounds, let alone a run to Sector Six with Biggs. An unusual occurrence that draws me away from the mako green screen long enough to retrieve the piece of paper without making eye contact.

Phoenix downs, elixirs, potions, and a variety of herbs that don't usually grow in Midgar, or even beneath the plate out of the sun for that matter. This is not your typical bread, milk, eggs sort of list. The gentle creak of her boots against the uneven steel and cement floor snakes through the silence. She's nervous about something.

"Why are you sending Biggs and I, but not Wedge?" It is an innocent question with enough ammunition to bring down several of Shinra's finest.

Tifa hesitates, her fingernails grating against her leather gloves behind her back, eyes taking in the surroundings with the intuition of the skilled warrior she is. "Wedge is not good at keeping secrets."

Secrets? This cannot be good for me. Just what kind of secrets are we talking about here?

"In all honesty, it's really none of my business, but when do you need the stuff on this list by?"

"Tonight, if possible."

I check the little clock on the Shinra database. 8:35. If we leave now, we might be able to get some of these ingredients by noon, if not a little later. And then I could get back to working on our latest mission of creating a way to blow up a reactor without hurting too many people. My fingers type the last few lines of code I know I won't remember until this afternoon and I power down the computer.

"I'll try, but no promises. You have some pretty rare stuff on here."

Gathering my travel cloak and my shuriken, I hurry to meet Biggs upstairs.

"Oh, and Jessie."

"Wha,t Tifa?" This is almost as bad if not worse than dealing with Tseng. It's bad enough I'm in the middle of a highly secretive hacking mission myself. I don't have the time to be doing Tifa's 'grocery' shopping.

"Please don't tell Barret about any of this." She looks downward, as though keeping something from the boss man was something to be ashamed about. "It's kind of personal."

"Gotcha. Your secret's safe with me."

Biggs yawns and places his hands behind his neck, glancing up at the endless plate above us, its cold, metallic surface illuminated by the endless mako shadows of the reactors. The air lays thick over the street in a thick, rolling smog. It's amazing how one day can be clear and inhabitable, and the next, a marshland beneath the earth, rotting and festering.

"So, Jessie, how'd ya end up down here working for AVALANCHE anyway? Not quite the normal choice of profession for a chick around here." He smirks and continues watching the plate above us, as though pondering the possibilities.

My pace quickens to walk alongside him. "I already told you, I'm seeking revenge for a fallen comrade."

For a moment, he mulls the thought over in his mind, arriving at some conclusion as he sidesteps a fallen body of another unfortunate casualty of this war we're embroiled in.

"You're a terrible liar." He brings his arms down and fingers the weapon holstered at his side. "No one joins AVALANCHE just because they're looking for revenge. Hell, if that was the case, we'd have a shitload of other people helping us out instead of what we got. So, who ya running from?"

Damn it, so I sorely underestimated which one was the observant one and which was the slower members of the group.

I grasp the shuriken, my boots brushing against the damp earth beneath the archway of twisted metal leading out of the sector. "I thought Barret's policy was no histories?"

"Aw, come on. If it makes ya feel any better, I'm running from an estranged woman who thinks I married her that night at the Gold Saucer. That, and I dodged the draft for the Wutai war against Shinra."

That's a new one. Biggs doesn't even look like he might have Wutainese blood in him. Then again, all I have to compare him to is Tseng - the picture of Wutainese life hidden behind the façade of a dark suit and his depressing job.

"My mother was from Wutai, my father was from Mideel. Not that I can take claim to my supposable heritage. I'm more of a cultural mutt. I fled before the Godo could drag my ass to the front lines only to have some SOLDIER guys kill me."

Must be Zack, Angeal, Sephiroth, and Genesis he's talking about. That was quite the mission we Turks ended up covering up.

"So, how about you? Mom and pop send ya to the matchmaker or something and it didn't go well? Don't see many shurikens in this region of the world." He takes the lead towards Wall Market, casually watching the neon halo extend closer.

"My family is dead. I was raised by a Wutainese man." Or more correctly, Tseng was the one who practically raised me as his own while the others assisted in my training.

The hesitance in his step rivals the surprise in his hazel eyes. They look, almost sad to an extent.

"Oh. Jessie, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," I duck beneath a low steel beam. "You are not the first person to bring it up."

Zack was. The shuffle of boots hurrying a little quicker after me breaks up the thoughts of the deceased SOLDIER before they can materialize. "So what all does Tifa need us to get for her now?"

I hand him the list.

"Interesting. Wedge must've used all the potions again for one reason or another. No problem. I know where to get this stuff."

By noon, we had knocked out most of the items on the list - except for the herbs. And, down here beneath the plate, there is only one place I know of where I might be able to obtain anything close. But, convincing Biggs to travel the whole way to Sector Five, and hoping she's around might be a bit of a hassle. Still, Tifa's keeping something from Barret and from what I can gather from the way my comrade keeps furrowing his brows in confusion over the herbs, it's something serious.

"Man, trust Tifa to make this the ultimate scavenger hunt this time. I've never even heard of half of these things."

"There's a woman who sells flowers in Sector Five. She might have what we're looking for," I offer my two cents, taking the lead through the dismal streets. I just hope she's around at this time of day.

The chapel rises above the murky earth like an angelic refuge for the weak and weary. Crude stone hewn into sturdy walls and stained glass windows to capture what little light filters through them. For a moment, I remain standing in awe of such a magnificent building. A true relic of the world before mako and Shinra, right underneath our feet this whole time.

My boots scrape against the crumbling stone steps, carrying me closer to the rising oaken doors cracked partially open. No wonder Zack skipped out on his free time. I'd want to spend more time here too if I were him.

Biggs stops beside me, a little unnerved by the whole idea of entering a church or all places. "You sure about this, Jessie?"

"She should be inside." I squeeze through the partially open door, taking in the mahogany pews and brilliant light filtering down from the hole in the roof. I wonder how that got there anyway.

By the flowers, the person I'm seeking balances precariously on her knees, delicate hands coaxing each flower towards the sunlight. Truth be told, I never liked the color pink, and few people I know can pull off wearing such a bright color, but, Zack's girl is different. There's something special about her.

Why did Zack have to die like that? I clench my fists and bite back the tears. It just wasn't fair that he could not have come back here; that Tseng never delivered the letters; that he is dead and I can't even tell her the truth on what happened.

The creak in the floorboards catches the young woman's attention and she turns towards us almost casually - as though she knew we would be coming here today.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Biggs seizes the opportunity to speak. "We need some herbs."

"Herbs?" confusion infringes upon her bright emerald eyes. "What kind of herbs?"

I snatch the list from my comrade with a sigh and hand the list to Aerith. "Forgive my acquaintance. He's a little rude sometimes. We need the herbs listed on this piece of paper."

She reads over them curiously and raises an eyebrow. "Someone's sick?"

"Excuse me?"

"These are herbs to cure illness. A recipe for a poultice and broth."

So someone Tifa knows is sick, or worse yet, maybe Tifa herself is ill. Maybe that's why she sent us. I mean, Marlene looked healthy enough this morning, as did my fellow terrorists.

"Can you help us with them?"

She nods and returns to her garden, expertly picking out the tiny green leaves and binding them together in a small paper bag. With a smile, she hands them to me. "I hope your friend feels better soon."

"I hope so too."

As we leave the church, back to the glum world around us, I cannot help but wonder just what that sound is in the distance. It sounds a little like a helicopter, but no one should be flying this early in the afternoon. Unless-

I pull open the door and quickly locate Aerith, startling her. "You might want to consider leaving now too. Looks like someone not looking for herbs is on their way."

Fear crosses her face and she grasps her metal rod and flees from the daffodils she had been doting over earlier.

Biggs raises an eyebrow, the sound increasing. "What's up, Jessie?"

"Turks." I press my back against the church wall and watch Tseng meander across the threshold towards the innocent, yet vacant flower bed a short while later. Good old Tseng. Still prim and proper as always, that aloofness in his stride as he thinks he's going to capture his Ancient today, only to find the place void of any life.

"Holy shit. What are they doing here?" Biggs whispers.

"Nothing good. Come on, let's go before he realizes we're here."

I hear him dial his PHS and begin speaking to someone on the other line - Hojo or Mr. Shinra probably regarding the loss of their flower girl for yet another day. One of these days she's not going to get so lucky and he's going to find her.

Now, all we need to do is give Tifa her stuff and I can get back to work.


	18. Early Morning Madness

**Chapter Eighteen - Early Morning Madness**

It's a sense all Turks develop over time - knowing when we're being watched. And from what I gather from their lightly labored breathing, and over the Barret's raucous snoring, whomever they are is dangerously close to my little corner of the world. My hand reaches out from beneath the woolen blanket towards my shuriken in silence.

"Jessie. Wake up."

Holy, now what does she want from me? I peer through the darkness, trying to figure out where Tifa is so I don't clobber her with the shuriken I'm holding before me right now. The creak of the floorboard to my right allows me time to lower the weapon and sit up. "What, Tifa?"

"Shhh, I don't want to awaken Barret or the others."

And just why do you think waking me up at - I catch sight of the ancient watch by the rolled up blanket serving as my pillow - 1:23 in the morning is going to make things any better?

"What's going on now? Someone attacking us or something?" I draw the blanket closer to my body for warmth - the floor of Seventh Heaven's basement seriously lacking it at this hour.

"No. I need your help with something."

"Can't it wait until later?"

Yesterday had been a long day, with both Biggs and I running through Sector Five and taking the 'scenic' route home to avoid Tseng detecting our presence, and later Barret criticizing me about priorities and how Tifa can do her own grocery shopping while I should be here working on our latest scheme. I had only gotten to bed a few hours ago, if that, and was not in the mood to do her running this early.

"No, it can't wait." Something about the way she says it sounds different, as though she's a little frustrated herself. Well, sorry Tifa, you're the one who woke me up. Not vice versa.

Still, I crawl out of bed, throw my travel cloak over my shivering body, and follow her to the first floor of the tavern, where a single candle burns and everything has been put away for the evening. "So what's the word now?"

She pulls Biggs's leather jacket on and grabs the candle. "I'll show you. Follow me."

Famous last words, coined by Reno himself, and usually ending with one or more limbs broken. It's going to be a long day.

For the better part of an hour we trudge through the endless slum streets, the area surprisingly peaceful for early morning. A few swaggering drunkards sit propped against a broken steel cable, laughing at stuff only they can see, while the early birds pick through the metal in hopes of finding the choice pieces before anyone else can. The sad part is, I think I'm beginning to like it here.

A quarter of the way and fifty paces to the right, Tifa halts, holding the candle out before her. From the looks of it, this place is uncharted territory. I hear a shuffle in the dirt and reach for my shuriken out of habit. Tifa holds a hand up to show that it is okay. The sound grows louder, a young man in an over-sized sweatshirt peering from behind a pile of aluminum signs arranged to form some sort of building, a house perhaps.

"He's not doing too well, Ms. Lockheart." The boy's dusty brown hair obscures his soot coated face. Tifa nods, the slight hunch of her shoulders saying just what she's thinking. Not what she wanted to hear.

She beckons me closer and follows the boy through the cluttered pathway until we reach a small alcove tucked against the wall where a small oil barrel smolders with a dying fire within. The boy adds some more fuel to it and pulls aside a tattered curtain.

"Right where you left him."

Tifa takes point and steps into the darkened excuse for a room, kneeling beside someone swathed in tattered and dirt crusted blankets. She touches his forehead with the delicacy of a butterfly touching a flower petal and sighs as he flinches in response.

No, flinch is an understatement. He downright shivers and tries to pull away from her in his delusional state of mind. Emitting a low moan, he seemingly folds his body deeper into the blankets, leaving only his mop of dirty blonde hair showing.

I kneel beside Tifa for a closer look. Was this the same man who had saved my life? Oh Cloud, Zack saying you were suffering from Mako Poisoning at an advanced state was putting it lightly. This is much worse than the last time I saw you.

Tifa sighs and draws the blankets closer against his body despite his groaning. "I just don't know what to do for him, Jessie. He's gotten worse lately."

So this is where she's been going every night around midnight. To tend to Cloud. I can see why she would want to keep this from Barret. A man wearing a SOLDIER first class uniform would not be welcomed with open arms, especially one who is ill.

"He needs to be kept warm and off of the ground." I notice the slight shade of pink around the collar of his uniform, no doubt chaffed from Zack half dragging him cross country. "And his wounds need to be washed out. No doubt they're infected and the Mako Poisoning is making it worse. Once the infection spreads, his systems will shut down and he'll die. Either way, he's a dead man if something isn't done soon."

My comrade rubs the back of her glove across her eyes, no doubt trying to keep from crying at the state of the man suffering in front of us. "I'm trying so hard, and I can't do much. With Marlene and Barret-"

"Screw Barret," I cannot believe I just said that out loud. "You wanna help someone, then you are obligated to do so. Right now he needs a place where you can keep an eye on him and where he can recover."

"It's not that simple. Barret's views on SOLDIERs are-"

"Misguided at best," I finish, that stern sense of the Turk I once was seizing control of the situation once again. "I'm sure a lot of people think AVALANCHE is nothing more than a group of murders out to slaughter as many people as possible. We're not, but you try telling someone, like the Turks for example, that we only wish to help people and want to minimize our casualty count."

"In case you haven't noticed, Barret does not really care too much either way. When he issues an order, he usually has good reason for it. This is no exception."

Do not talk to me about taking orders. I was not supposed to let Zack and Cloud escape either, but I did, and now this is my second chance as well as yours. Sometimes, the people I work with just make me want to scream.

I owe it to Zack to do my best to help the man he ultimately died protecting, even if I'm not quite sure just how I'm going to do so yet. No one is going to get in my way.

"Look, if he stays here, he _will _die. His fever is out of control, Tifa. I'm not even certain he can last another few hours like this, let alone another day. We have to take him back to Seventh Heaven - if anything to buy him some time. Now cry yourself and emotional river, build a bridge, and get the hell over it for his sake."

I search the area for anything we can fashion into a stretcher to carry him with, finding little to work with aside from a few twisted poles that have seen better days.

"You're right. I'm letting my emotions get the better of me and trying to talk myself out of this. Let's get him back home and go from there."

I pull my travel cloak off and set it between the poles, tying it in place. "Sounds like a plan. You handle setting up a place for him, and I'll handle the boys."


	19. Monsters Under the Bed

**Chapter Nineteen - Monsters Under the Bed**

Seventh Heaven looms like a Midgar Zolom about to strike. Its cold, dark windows capture the sinister mako light and deflect it across the lesser buildings around it, like a series of impossible security lights one must navigate around in order to reach your destination without being maimed by the guards.

This sounded a lot better in my head when I was putting the whole plan together. My sore hand trembles at the weight of the rusty pole my fingers are wrapped around. I balance the pole against my hip to steady the stretcher once again, praying it won't fall.

For Cloud. I bite back the discomfort. I'm doing this for Cloud.

"Are you okay."

"Yeah," I flinch, trying to gain a better grip on the poles without jostling the wounded infantryman more than necessary. How did Zack manage this on his own the whole way from Nibelheim?

Cloud whimpers and falls silent again, the ragged, labored breathing reaching its hideous claws into my heart and tearing at the layers of my soul. With each whistling breath, fainter, weaker than the last, the inevitable truth crawls another step over the debris and rubble. Death is standing right there, scythe prepared with a glistening sheen of mako green, walking alongside the stretcher, patiently awaiting its victim to surrender and be led to the Promised Land.

Death's frigid breath lingers ever closer, making me shiver.

Fight Cloud - I will him on. Please keep fighting.

For Zack. For Tifa.

For me.

I catch a glimpse of his gaunt face in the eerie light. He's too pale, like a corpse prepared for burial. Cracked lips parted with his murky eyes pressed closed. If it wasn't for the fading breath lingering after every heave of his chest, I might have suspected the nonexistent wind playing cruel tricks with my mind.

He's having a conversation with Death and there's nothing I can do to help him. That stinging sensation claws at my eyes once again and I shake my head to prevent the tears from falling.

Just like the day Zack died.

From the weary lines upon Tifa's face, I can tell she knows the inevitable truth - that we'll be burying him by the end of the day.

Oh Zack, why did you die? My knowledge of Mako Poisoning is limited at best to what they teach you in the Turks, about a half of a page long under the heading of Poisons, page thirteen of the Shinra Medical Manual. Nowhere as advanced as what you guys in SOLDIER know. All I can really do it try to prevent infection from setting in, try to control the fever, keep the victim comfortable, and ultimately wait. If I get lucky, he'll reject Death's tantalizing offer and wake up. If not, then he will follow in the footsteps of an unknown hero, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I'm not too certain I can this time.

A streetlamp flickers at a minor disturbance of the power grid. Just like his eyes once did when I saw him in Gongaga. He was scared, trying to outrun Hollander, that flicker of determination deep within his eyes. The determination to protect his injured friend; to make it back to Midgar; to be the one that got away and live a pleasant life with Aerith. But then, on that ridge, when the rain fell in torrents and the wind howled viciously, that spark of life flickered out.

My stiff leg buckles slightly at the uneven street. I'm not sure I can do this much longer.

Zack…Zack was bad enough. _Please _Cloud, hold on a little bit longer. We're almost home.

We navigate the stretcher around an oily puddle of water from the sewer grate above.

Don't let Death tempt you with its promises. Don't hurt me again.

It's selfish, I know. But this is all I have right now Cloud.

You're his legacy damn it. You're not only carrying Zack's, but Angeal's. Everything SOLDIER once stood for.

I just hope you're still in there somewhere Cloud.

The boards shudder as my boots connect with their surface, slowing my pace to a weary limp. Seventh Heaven, the only safe place in the world right now.

You're going to be okay Cloud. You're going to be okay. The phrase resurfaces like the constant revolution of the train winding around the central support of Midgar. Tifa and I switch positions for carrying the stretcher, her leading the way through the darkened bar.

Everything's so quiet this morning. The faint snores of the boys slumbering down below drift upwards to caress the damp tavern air, still flecked with cigar smoke and alcohol from the night before. Tifa leads the way to a flight of rickety, creaky stairs off the side of the actual bar area. A lowly newcomer to AVALANCHE like me being allowed to even set foot on the rickety stairs alone is an honor, but right now, honor is not my concern and I don't really give a damn about the stairs or their symbolic meaning as it was explained by Biggs and Wedge.

I'm more concerned about not dropping Cloud as I try to balance both stretcher and myself in such a steep, dark area. This would not have been such an issue a week ago, but then again stairs are a new challenge when you've been injured. But the Turk in me relishes a challenge and the promise I made to a fallen friend only serves to fuel it.

That I know I can count on.

Cloud shakes his head side to side with another low moan, his fingers stiff around the course fabric of his SOLDIER uniform - as though he's trying to hold something close to his heart.

"This will have to do for now," Tifa breaks me from my thoughts and sets her end of the stretcher in a small, almost cluttered room. It's not quite Spartan as far as cleanliness goes, but it's warm, dark, and quiet. I set my half of the stretcher down and hurriedly assist my comrade in pulling back the quilted floral sheets across the mattress to provide a semi-comfortable place for him to sleep until we can get him cleaned up and everything organized.

Together, we lift the trembling man from the harsh floor and situate him onto the mattress, drawing the covers up to his chin and smoothing out the rough spots in the blanket. I tuck the corners of the bed sheet beneath the mattress. If he does thrash about at some point, he won't end up throwing himself on the floor.

There is a creak in the hallway boards that makes my blood run cold. Every sense on high alert, the possibilities of who might have heard us bring Cloud in running through my mind. Too light to be Wedge or Barret. If it's Biggs we're screwed royally, as he's light on his feet and not so forgiving about being left out of things.

My pulse quickens, the Turk in me warning of an ambush from behind.

"Aunt Tifa?"

Great, the one person I forgot about just happens to be standing in the doorway, a small glass of water in hand and tiny pink slippers on her feet. Judging by the drooping of her eyelids, she's probably not going to remember much of anything when it is time to officially wake up for the day.

"What are you doing up, Marlene?" Tifa leaves Cloud's bedside to comfort the little girl who yawns and pulls her stuffed moogle closer to her side.

"I heard a monster."

"A monster?" Tifa picks the little girl up. "What kind of monster?"

"A scary one. One that eats moogles like Kupo." She cradles the stuffed animal protectively and leans her head against the martial artist's shoulder.

Tifa looks worriedly at Cloud and back to Marlene. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that. Right, Jessie? You're good at hunting monsters."

I know exactly where this is going and look worriedly towards Cloud, who hasn't moved since we put him on the bed. Looks like I've got bigger monsters to find and kill than one that eats stuffed moogles.

Marlene's sleepy eyes light up at the prospect. "Is Aunt Jessie gonna get rid of the monster?"

"You got it, kiddo. No monster gets by me."

If only that nagging sense of failure would stop prying at my soul long enough for me to actually believe it.

None the less, Tifa whispers a quiet 'thank you' and carries the youngster back to her room, all the while telling some sort of story regarding the stuff moogle.

I turn back to Cloud and kneel by the bed, grasping his right hand.

So cold…

"Cloud," the tears sting like bitter wine. "Don't make me bury you too. Please, don't do this to me. Don't follow Zack."

He shifts a little bit in his sleep, as though pausing from Death's lecture to listen.

"You're going to beat this you know. Strong like a SOLDIER would. You saved my life, now I'm going to find a way to save yours. Hang in there a little bit longer."

He squeezes my hand faintly, and I know, for the first time, that there is hope.


	20. Graveyard Shift

**This chapter is a little low on overall emotional Cloud-lusting excitement-wise (Just thought I'd warn you ahead of time). The next one picks up more on the emotional, tender aspects of things, but I just felt like throwing this one in there because I could. That, and I was too lazy to delete it. I shouldn't have any more fillers like this (hopefully), but it was the kind of mood I was in at the time, and meh, this is how it goes. So yeah, either love it or hate it. I personally hate it, but who knows, someone might like it. Ya never know.**

**Chapter Twenty - Graveyard Shift**

There's something about the graveyard shift that makes a Turk feel alive. Perhaps it was the long hours spent pouring over the computer terminal, watching the same old corridors for intruders and always on alert, knowing the entire security of the company was in my hands and failure to notice anything would result in a lot more than my job.

Or maybe it is the quiet atmosphere where one can be alone with their thoughts without fear of anyone whisking in to steal them away with either an accusation, a new mission, or just random conversation that really makes no sense, but is distracting none the less.

I hate the graveyard shift.

"Whatcha up to now, Jessie?" Biggs drapes an arm around my shoulder and reads the document on the screen. "Mako Poisoning? Hell there something ya ain't telling us?"

I casually remove his arm from my shoulder. Keep your mitts to yourself, buddy, unless you want me to break that arm for you. Right now, I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone.

"It's a precaution," I reply, that edge of warning tinting my voice. For a moment, he continues to stare at the glowing monitor, the light washing across the cement and steel floor.

He whistles in surprise. "Ninety percent fatality rate. Blisters, seizures, comas, death. Shit man that sounds pretty painful for the poor bastard who contracts it."

"It is."

Unfortunately, what was in our old medical training manual was putting this particular ailment in mild terms. I reread the symptoms again. Cloud's already at the coma stage, next step death.

Of all the damn luck. I scroll to the next section.

"So, ah," Biggs rubs the back of his neck nervously. "How do you get it? Touching reactor cores or something?"

Good, about time he backs off a little bit. Sorry, but he was pissing me off with his insistent prying and hovering.

"If you touch a reactor core you die within five minutes." I click the mouse and try to read against my better judgment. Do I really want to know exactly how Cloud is going to die? "It's the airborne particles that make you sick."

He's paler than Modeoheim's frosted hills right now, and I cannot help but think that he somehow deserves to be in that corner I put him in. I just want to be left alone. Is that so much to ask?

"Oh, so like a fog or something? That should be easy enough to avoid."

"Its colorless, tasteless, and odorless; invisible until you start to show symptoms."

He sits down beside me, that nervous look about him as he reads the information.

Why is he looking at me like that?

"We, ah, we're safe right? I mean, we're feeling pretty good about a week after the explosion. Could one of us be infected with it?"

He's thinking about our mission yesterday and what Aerith said about the herbs. I can see it in his eyes. Something's got him worried.

"Probably not. It's something you know about right away once you contract it. And unless you were the idiot who blew up Reactor Three's heat shield and stood there watching the flash, I'd say you look healthier than Wedge and Barret together. If you were going to get sick from it, you'd already be bedridden and comatose."

Like Cloud. The thought picks at the back of my mind. I hope he's not being too much of a burden for Tifa right now.

"What about you?"

Wait. What? I look away from the screen, a little bit surprised by his accusation. "Huh?"

He points to the screen. "There's got to be some reason you're looking up Mako Poisoning so early. I mean, it makes sense and all. You seem paler than usual and look tired this morning. Not to mention the fact that you appeared a couple of days after the explosion, wounded and pretty pissed-"

"I don't have Mako Poisoning," I reply before he can finish. Had I not been thinking of a certain infantryman living out his final hours on the top floor, I might have seen the benefit in playing that particular card at this particular moment.

Rude was right - I suck at cards.

"Then why you looking it up?"

Damn, now I need something really good or he's going to find out about Cloud. Think, Cissnei, think. What can I say that will make him stop asking questions and baiting me in to answering them?

"I'm a cautious person." Yeah right. "I wanna make damn sure none of us get sick when we actually go after Shinra to prove we're not some haphazard group of fools with death wishes, but instead a group of well prepared citizens trying to protect the planet."

"Makes sense when you put it like that."

"Hey," I rummage through the stack of papers. "Don't run off yet. I have something for you guys to check out for me."

"Sure thing, Jessie. Got something good?" He reads over the paper and whistles at what I had written. "Barret's gonna love you for this one."

"Go see if I'm right first."

I commit what I need to from the Mako Poisoning information packet to memory and head for the upstairs, casually waiting for the boys to leave in search of Barret. Once the sounds of their footsteps retreat around the corner of the building, I head back up the stairs to check on Cloud.

Yep, I can hear Barret now reaming me out about how I managed to put the entire terrorist sect known as AVALANCHE into hypochondriac mode over Mako Poisoning before breakfast. It's going to be a long day.


	21. Side Effects

**Chapter Twenty One - Side Effects**

"Oh, Cloud, how did you get this way?"

I gently dab away the light trickle of blood from the corner of his parted lips with the soft, cool cloth Tifa has left for me, taking extra care not to disturb his slumber. From the looks of things, my comrade has already managed to change him into one of Barret's over-sized shirts, leaving his blood-soaked and dirt-crusted uniform draped lazily over the nearest chair.

Might as well wash the thing while I'm here. I locate the wash basin and pour a bucket of lukewarm water into it, adding a little bit of soap.

"You know, Cloud-" The course fabric grates against the washboard with a rhythmic click. "This is the first time I've actually met you. Don't take this the wrong way, but you and Zack palling around kinda seems odd. SOLDIERs and infantrymen usually hate each other. Kinda like Turks and everybody else. It just seems weird to me."

Then again, I'm one to talk. I was supposed to not enjoy working with SOLDIER either, but Zack somehow made things a little less cumbersome - fun even. You just never knew what the puppy was going to say next, especially when in the almighty presence of Tseng. Now that I think about it. Zack was the only one who could make Tseng smile on even the worst of days. And when Tseng was in a good mood, the rest of us could expect the same.

"But, I take it you two got along fine. Two country boys in the big city of Midgar. I can only imagine what the two of you might have talked about before you got sick."

Something hard brushes my wrist from the folds of the fabric. What in the heck?

I fish the flat object out the pocket of the uniform and rub the spatter of blood off of the slightly charred corner with my thumb.

"Oh Holy."

This is my key card all right. ID number, picture, and code strip. Damn it, Cloud. You are an idiot. A brilliant idiot. Do you realize just how much trouble this card could have caused had Tifa found it? Barret would shoot me on the spot.

I tuck the card into my pocket and turn my attention back to the uniform.

"But-" My hands mingle amidst the flakes of mud melting into the soap across the surface of the basin. "I want to thank you. You know, for saving my life."

He shifts in his sleep, brow furrowed in discomfort.

"You could have left me there and no one would have held you responsible. They never would have even known. Why did you save me, Cloud? Why did you risk your own life for mine?"

The water drips from the woolen undershirt of the uniform as I ream the water from it and drape it over the back of the chair to dry. That should do it. At least it will smell a little bit better.

A violent shiver sweeps through his body, hands grasping at the quilt in raw terror.

"Cloud?"

His eyes are wide, the primal fear of an animal residing deep within the hazy mako hue. It's as though he can't see anything, but yet, he sees everything. Something about that look - terrifies me. This is not Cloud Strife, but, someone else.

For a moment, he continues to stare, muttering something in slurred, slow words. And, just as quick, he sits bolt upright with a shout of raw, unbridled rage, reaching for the lamp upon the nightstand by the bed. The quilt slinks to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Does he think-

"No, Cloud, they're long gone." I reach for the lamp in an effort to prevent him from hurting anyone, especially himself.

The military is not in this room trying to kill you, Cloud. It's a hallucination, a side effect of the Mako Poisoning.

"Tifa! A little bit of help here!" I know she's downstairs somewhere tending to Marlene or the bar. I just hope she can hear me.

The sound of shattering glass, pain tearing through my left shoulder and under my eye. The wooden dresser grazes my hip as I grapple for his wrists. If only I can get his hands away from that weapon. He continues to shout, wrenching free of my grasp and swinging the lamp once again.

Damn he's strong for being a star pupil at Death's lecture hall.

"Cloud! Stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Please, Cloud, stop this. Please. I'm not your enemy!

I dodge another swing of the lamp, the curtains fluttering at the breeze. He's fast.

'Never let your opponent see what your next move will be.' Famous words offered by Tseng. The basis of how every battle works when you're a Turk.

A light swish of the air dangerously close to my right. This time, I'm ready.

I'm so sorry, Cloud. My hand catches his wrist and jerks it backwards. Forgive me.

"I said stop it!"

The lamp falls from his hand, his entire muscular arm trembling. For a moment, he looks puzzled, uncertain of where in the hell he even is. Those cloudy, helpless eyes take in their surroundings, finding nothing familiar.

He's so helpless. I nudge the broken lamp out of reach with the toe of my boot and take a seat upon the edge of the bed, my hand not releasing his wrist just yet, lest his mako drenched mind reverses its decision about letting me live another minute.

There has to be a better way of dealing with these hallucinations. There just has to be.

He rests his head against my shoulder, panting and shivering. My heart races, every trace of his terror intertwining with my own sense of alarm.

Holy, Cloud, I could have killed you.

"Shhh. You'll be okay, Cloud. You'll be okay." My trembling fingers stroke his unkempt hair in an effort to sooth him. "You're going to beat this. I know you are."

I can hear Tifa's frantic footsteps scaling the stairwell, and for once, I've never been more relieved to have someone else to help me.


	22. Am I, afraid?

**Chapter Twenty Two - Am I, afraid?**

Cloud is finally resting comfortably in his little universe once again, leaving me to answer any and all questions Tifa can come up with between the room where the incident occurred and the bar where we're headed. "So, what happened?"

"Mako Poisoning side effect." I hold the piece of ice she offers me over my sore jaw. "Probably not the last either."

Tifa winces at the thought and hands me a glass of water before taking a seat across from me. "Can they be prevented?"

How in the hell would I know something like that? It's bad enough I'm stuck here as it is, having been subjected to one of his hallucinations. I'm sorry, allow me to rephrase that. I was the target. "No. They have to run their course."

He's certainly stronger than I imagined him to be since when he was brought in.

"You got lucky. Had that glass broken a little bit sooner, you'd probably be dead right now."

The scary thing is, she's right. A few more seconds of hesitation, and I'd be having tea with Zack in the Promised Land right now. Explain that one to Barret.

It wasn't his fault, I try to reassure myself. He did not mean to attack me. It was the disease coursing through his veins. The hallucination of Zack's final moments.

How _he _remembered everything occurring.

Was this how I got to Midgar? Did he rescue me in one of his more lucid hallucinations?

The keycard sits dormant in my pocket, begging to be examined. Why had he taken it from me to begin with? Cloud and I had not even met until that night, and even then, no introductions had been offered between us. Just a simple - he looks pretty sick, I'm going to let you go this one time Zack. Don't do anything stupid. And yet, it had made no difference. Zack died and Cloud is not Zack. I was perfectly justified in defending myself.

"Jessie?"

I look up at the rows of liquor bottles, noticing Tifa's worried expression. I hate that look. Just like Tseng when I failed that mission - full of concern, worry, sympathy. Gods I hate that look with a passion.

"It's nothing."

She wipes a cloth over the bar. "Sometimes I wonder just where you go when you look so lost."

I wish I knew and could tell you something that made sense. But somehow I doubt my mind as a Turk counts as something eligible for debate.

I want to go home. Back to the Turks, where my comrades are mere acquaintances and the enemy has no connection to me. Where I can stop being Jessie and be Cissnei, just like I always was. Where the only thing I have to hide is my emotions. Being a Turk sounds good right about now.

The clock upon the wall reads a quarter past ten. The boys won't be back until later, at least a few hours. Plenty of time to work on my latest self-appointed mission.

The bar stool grates against the floorboards as I stand and take a limping step towards the pinball machine.

"Tifa?" I hesitate. "Could you look after him for a while. I've got some things to do for Barret."

"Sure."

The floor shifts beneath my feet, carrying me into the safety of the underground, where I can be alone with my thoughts.

I set the ID card beside the monitor, studying it. How ironic that they key to my life is no longer my own. Instead, this little square of laminated plastic will serve as the only key to AVALANCHE's future success.

The picture placement will be easy, as will the identification numbers along the upper right corner. It's the magnetic strip that will pose a bit of a tedious issue. But, with the information my card possesses, I should be able to reprogram that minor detail. Hopefully.

The database chimes as I log in, scanning my unchecked e-mails for anything good. So far, nothing aside from an update to the rail security system. If I'm right, Barret and the boys will bring back the news I want to hear. Then, all I'll need is some thin white plastic, a stripe of magnetic tape, some tinfoil and a little bit of glue.

I think I'll ask Barret if I can tag along for this mission.

Wait, did I just think that? That I want to accompany the boys on a scavenger hunt for a few simple items to forge an ID card?

The last place I want to be right now is in that room on the second floor. My hand trails to the stinging wound gracing the flesh beneath my eye and along my shoulder. I do not want to get hurt again. If hunting for usable plastic gets me away from this place and away from him, then it will be time well spent.

My pulse quickens at the thought.

Am I - _afraid _of Cloud?


	23. The Train Graveyard

**Chapter Twenty Three - The Train Graveyard**

The 'official' term issued by Shinra is the Yard of Decommissioned Engines and Rail Cars. But to those of us beneath the plate, the haunting wails of the wind whisking through rusted doors and taking its place upon plush, mildewed seats, ordering the cobwebs and rustic chill for the appetizers of its static journey, it is simply the Train Graveyard.

Manhole covers lie propped against steel wheels, where the 'ghosts' enter and exit the stations as they please and the phantoms of the retired conductors lurk, waiting to steal away little children and fools who dare to tread upon their domain.

I don't believe in ghosts and I'm not about to start.

These are simple, outdated, decommissioned rail cars that Shinra had no more use for once the M-models were built, tested, and sent on their merry little ways to ferry employees and travelers from point A to point B to point C and back again, all while charging a nice little fee in the name of 'security.' They are not 'hotels' for the spirits who roam the slums. Judging by the amount of artful graffiti lacing their steel and aluminum hulls with the usual slum jargon, I'm not the only one who does not buy into this whole ghost thing.

Unfortunately -

"You sure about this, Jessie?"

Barret does.

I shoulder the ancient rucksack I'd located in one of the crates behind the bar and step towards the fork in the road where two mighty engines had unceremoniously met at the poor piloting skills of their conductors while being parked here. A rusted driver wheel lies crooked against the surface of the corroded track, its steel rods bent beyond repair. None the less, it is a phenomenal piece of machinery.

"Scared of a few spooks?" I cannot help but smile at the way he keeps looking over his shoulder at Biggs and Wedge, who trail behind, studying the skeletal trains in dare I even say it, curiosity.

"Damn ghosts will sneak up on ya real quiet like and stab ya in the spine with rusted metal poles."

Oh, so they're like the Turks, only invisible. Wonderful. We'll get along fine then.

A fallen beam crosses our path and I crawl under it, resting my elbows against its gritty surface once I reach the other side to face the distressed leader of AVALANCHE.

"Look," I try to reassure him. "The only ghosts who are gonna bother you are the ones looking for a permanent trip to the Promised Land. Trust me."

"Damn spooks-" He rechecks to ensure that the gun grafted into his arm is loaded. Like bullets are going to do anything to these invisible undead he thinks are going to just float out of the ground and stab us with rusty metal poles. I finger the well worn piece of blizzaga materia in my pocket. If any 'ghosts' even think about it, they're going to get the cold shoulder, literally.

Biggs drops down from the beam, scattering oily dust into the air. "So what are we looking for here?"

"Nuts, bolts, and magnets," I show them a diagram of the parts needed to replicate an ID scanner, or more correctly - fix the printer we already have. Wedge adjusts his suspenders and smiles.

"Wing nuts and cam locks. No problem finding those around here. Anything else?" His eyes rove over the diagram. "Copper wire and aluminum. Sounds good to me."

"What exactly are you up to down in that basement when we're not around, Jessie?" Barret raises an eyebrow, still in 'ghost' mode.

"Stuff," I manage as innocently as I possible can. "When I get it perfected, let's just say that AVALANCHE will not be limited by where they can and cannot go anymore."

We continue walking, weaving through the carnage of the graveyard towards a behemoth of a locomotive engine recently decommissioned due to lack of funds, a fact that irritated Reeve to the point where he burned all of his plans for locomotives and vowed he would never brainstorm, design, blueprint, build, or ride any form of train ever again. That had to be one of the the longest days at Shinra Corporation.

Which is exactly why I chose his account earlier today for information, which led me here. If I can find an old rail conductor ID card, or even a staff card, the entire transportation system will be at my fingertips. And with that information, I can recreate actual cards to get my comrades through the new security system undetected.

The magnetically enhanced doors tower against the sinister lamplight spilling through broken windows. A spark drifts lazily from the twisted cable riding through the air at the very top.

"Wedge-" He glances down from the rusty ladder he's managed to prop up against the engine. "That cable wire is still hot."

"That would have been ugly."

Fortunately, from what I can see, this is the only track still on electric cables. The others are simple steam based. I direct the heavy man towards those instead. No sense getting fried when there are easier places to get materials.

"You know a lot about trains?" Biggs asks, watching Barret lumber off in pursuit of Wedge.

"I know a little bit." My fingers gingerly rearrange the tiny wires in the box beside the opening mechanism. Yellow over green was it again? "Used to love to ride them before the new security measures went into effect. Now it's just a pain."

There is a low hum and the doors grate against one another as they slide open to reveal the cold, mildew-encrusted world beyond.

"Tell me about it. They won't even let you on anymore without several forms of ID and your first born son. It's like they _know_."

Just the way he says it makes my day a little better.

Cobwebs drape like fine silk curtains between the once plush seats, glittering in the lamplight. This was one of the first class coaches. Biggs whistles at the overly embellished décor along the walls and the tattered curtains. A train fit for a king, as Reeve had once stated. And yet, for as nice as this train is, it was not good enough for Mr. Shinra. Such a sad occurrence.

A small piece of plastic grates against the floor beneath my foot. Perfect. Just perfect. I flip the tiny card over in my palm, studying the faded name and photo. According to this, this was once a part of a rail assistant's card. With a little bit of work, I could easily make it work for Wedge.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end with the light disturbance of electricity upon the air. Biggs does not seem to notice, too focused on scouring the ground for similar treasures. I drop the piece of the card into the rucksack and rest a hand against the back of the seat to listen.

Footsteps, at least a few yards to the right, approaching this particular train. I've heard those familiar long-strided gaits somewhere before, usually en route to either Tseng's office, my office, or the break room.

Reno.

"We gotta go," I swing the rucksack over my shoulder and grab my comrade's shirtsleeve, pulling him towards the door leading to the next car.

"Jessie?"

Too much time has been wasted already. "Come on. We have to find Barret and Wedge, now!"

The door protests my best attempts at forcing it open. Either way I'm dead. If Reno doesn't kill me, Barret and the boys will.

"What's going on?"

"Turks."

I catch a glimpse of what looks to be a flashlight reflecting around the caboose of an overturned train. They're too close. My fingers twist the wires around once again. Focus. I need to calm down and focus. Biggs continues to watch the flashlight beam lingering over the tops of the seats and the cobwebs, hesitantly reaching for the .45 at his side.

The door slides open with a low creak, leaving a small fraction of space for us to make our escape. Twisted skeletons of overturned and jackknifed cars press against the sides, boxing us in. Guess we have no choice but to climb.

"Shit, what about that wire up there."

"Don't touch it and you'll be fine." I reach for the a broken piece of steel, my leather half gloves providing plenty of traction for me to climb up there. Biggs follows with uncertainty, one eye upon the light.

The wire throws a spark, its menacing hiss reminding me of its presence as my slow, deliberate movements drag me closer to clearer ground. Just a few more feet and we'll be clear of the overturned rail car to our left and the sharp engines to our right. Biggs creeps along beside me, his breathing heavy against the stagnant afternoon air. He's nervous about this whole thing. Whether it be the high voltage wire less than a foot from his body or the Turks rounding the corner, I honestly can't say. All I know is that the wire is the least of our problems compared to my former comrade's Electro Mag Rod.

The nearly traction-less aluminum slips against my feet, caving violently to the right and dragging me closer to the wire with a sickening crunch and a startled yelp of surprise. A pair of strong, calloused hands frantically grab for my hands, drawing me closer to the newly formed abyss.

"Biggs!" I try to keep my voice down as he dangles above the darkness, that startled look in his eyes. Damn he's heavy. "Hang on."

Aluminum and steel dig into my elbows as the mildew weakened surface prevents me from getting a better grip, instead, making me slide towards the twisted rubble we've climbed up here to avoid.

Don't let go. I try to reassure myself. I was a Turk, I can still do this. I grasp Biggs's hands tighter and manage to catch my foot against one of the vents, effectively slowing my descent into the rail car below. Discomfort radiating along my leg, I gingerly draw back, dragging his kicking form with me.

Just a few more feet…

"Shit that was close." He hauls himself the remainder of the way and stares down at the empty car immersed in shadows. Who knows just how he would have managed to get out of that one.

"Yeah," I gingerly rub my throbbing shoulder. "Now we need to get out of here."

Reno's boots click against the grainy mixture of dirt and crushed cement, echoing louder with each step. He's too close not to hear us move. I hold a hand up for Biggs to rethink escape, a fact that seems to confuse him, but he seems to understand the danger we are in right now.

The flashlight beam drifts lazily over several fallen beams, catching in a puddle of water to the left and reflecting against the side of the train that jumped its tracks. I slowly inch away from the edge. Please let the shadows keep us out of view.

Shirt still not tucked in, blazer hanging wide open with the nonexistent breeze, and EMR tapping harmlessly against his shoulder to match his confident stride. That's Reno alright. And - my eyes rove the otherwise vacant area for the towering form of Rude covering the rear, his fists ready to challenge any foe he encounters and shades reflecting the sinister glint of their mission.

But - I cannot help inching slightly forward for a better view. Who in the hell is - No. There's no way.

Short blonde hair and that stubborn, otherwise shortened walk perfected by someone who is better suited for heels than boots. They hired _her _this soon?

"Aw, lighten up yo. It was only a joke," Reno casually steps towards the open doorway of the coach car.

The rookie, Elena, if I remember correctly from her resume, crosses her arms and glares. "Jokes are not appropriate for important missions like this one."

My former comrade leans against the doorway with that charming smirk of his, gesturing to Rude, who merely adjusts his shades with a sigh. Looks like it has not been an easy mission so far.

"Important? Man, what'd Tseng tell ya to expect yo?" He flips the EMR on and off casually, watching the sparks dance upon the stifling air. "All you're doing is learning the basic structural design of train cars, not do anything sinister yet."

Her brow furrows in frustration, obviously insulted by the comment. For once, I have to commend Reno. He's really pissing her off.

"Maybe your other comrades let you get away with that lewd stuff, but I do not appreciate it."

He must have made one of his infamous sexist comments. Probably about her butt or breasts. Typical Reno. He'll stop once he realizes it doesn't bother you anymore. Until then, you're in for a long couple of years.

"That's who I am. No sense changing it yo."

"You will change it, or you will be reported to Tseng."

Rude looks away, holding the flashlight in such a way he's completely in the shadows. Obviously, he's amused by her efforts to put the fear of Holy and Meteor into the red head's soul. Trust me Elena, it's a wasted effort.

"Tseng knows already. Nothing _you _say will change things yo."

Biggs raises an eyebrow at the way Reno says it, waiting for the inevitable slap that's sure to follow.

"Unlike your incompetent former partner, I'm not going to let you-"

The EMR is at her throat in an instant, a look I've never seen Reno use before carved across his face.

"You leave Cissnei out of this yo," he snarls, the rage of Bahamut Fury flaring in his eyes. "You will never be a fraction the Turk she was, no matter how hard you try. All the ass kissing in the world will not convince Tseng, Rude, or myself that _you _deserve even the faintest of a chance at taking _her _spot on this team. Rest assured, you are not my 'incompetent' partner yo. And rest assured that if you ever mention my former partner like that again, you will see the full meaning of why I am a Turk. Understood rookie?"

Rude restrains him before he can do any real damage, allowing Elena precious few seconds to move out of range. Smart move, because right now, he's not the only one you need to be afraid of. Maybe Barret's on to something about these 'ghosts' that haunt this train yard.

"Let it go, Reno."

The red head scowls. "She started it yo. I was trying to 'integrate' her into the team like Tseng said I should and she reminds me once again why I am not happy with this arrangement!"

Rude whispers something to him that makes his shoulders droop slightly.

"I know man, but she just pisses me off. I try to be nice, and it backfires yo."

My 'replacement' stands at the corner of the intersection of fallen locomotives, looking every bit as ready to challenge Reno again as a male chocobo trying to defend its turf. To his own benefit, Rude manages to get between them, silencing Reno with a look that tells him that he is no longer going to dominate the situation, nor is she. If anyone is going to be doing the training about trains, it is going to be calm, sensible, never emotional Rude.

The sound of their footsteps vanishing further down the yard replaces the tense atmosphere once again with the thick, oily air and crackle of electricity. Why are my hands trembling?

Biggs nudges my shoulder and smiles. "Whoa, they sure are cutthroat aren't they? I thought the red head was gonna kill her there for a moment."

The chill air creeping over the metallic skeletons brushes my shoulders, making me draw my cloak closer for warmth. They survived that night. Both of them. They're alive, and I'm not.

I jump down from the train's roof without a word, my legs quivering at the force of striking the concrete. She, that woman, is my replacement? I interviewed my own replacement. And Reno. He actually gave a damn for a change. No, this is all wrong. I'm not dead.

Biggs's footsteps approach at that odd quick step of his, a reminder of what I am.

Is AVALANCHE going to be like the Turks? If I screw up, will they simply 'replace' me?


	24. Peas and Potatoes

**Chapter Twenty Four - Peas and Potatoes**

Seventh Heaven is quieter than usual for the early evening happy hour. The usual creeps sit casually at their usual tables, lopsided grins geared towards Tifa behind the bar. It's no secret what their drunken, lecherous eyes are seeking. Hell, that's probably the only reason they're even here. With a simple nod, she returns their gestures with a smile of her own, and like magic, they return to their liquid addiction as though the thought had never crossed their minds.

The drone of the evening news flickers across the screen behind the bar. Another person got shot today in Sector Seven. Another car wrecked on LOVELESS boulevard. Another 'attempt' at infiltrating the Shinra building was foiled. The news is just _so_ happy for a place like this. My gaze turns once again to the men nursing their liquor.

They're either drinking because they are depressed, or depressed because they are drinking. I have not quite made up my mind on which one it might be yet.

Wedge reaches across the rough wooden table surface for the salt shaker, nearly upsetting Biggs's drink. A flick of a knife prevents the glass from toppling over, the taller, more aggressive man forcing poor, innocent Wedge's hand back with a warning glare.

I continue to pick at the peas with the tines of the fork as they threaten to march out of their territory and into the pale, uncharted wilderness where no peas should ever venture. Mashed potatoes in the slums, who knew?

"What's the matter, Jessie? You seem kinda bummed out about something." Barret casually stabs at the unfortunate piece of mystery meat drowning in gravy. How one can eat something that looks like road kill, I do not even want to imagine. But, both Biggs and Wedge assured me that it is fairly decent tasting and that it's better than Sector Six Wall Market's cooking. Still, it was some sort of cute fuzzy animal at some point - maybe, possibly.

Aw darn it. Stupid peas just had to go and venture into the potatoes to die. I frantically try to prevent their mingling, only succeeding in making the situation worse. Great, even the vegetables are out to get me now.

"It's nothing."

Unless you count the fact that my former so called 'comrades' are roaming the slums, training a fledgingly rookie to fill the position I spent more than sixteen years getting to, only to lose, due to my untimely 'death.' Somehow, I doubt that topic would sit well with Barret and the boys. It's not fair damn it. I never wanted to be shot down by that insane witch running the Department of Weapons Research, just because I happened to make bad decision regarding two men trying to flee for their lives. My fork strikes the plate a little too forcefully.

"Doesn't seem like nothing. You haven't said much since the Train Graveyard."

There is nothing for me to say. I screwed up and this is my punishment. I can't even take care of a simple infantryman suffering from late stage Mako Poisoning right. And yet, these three, this group dead set on destroying Shinra to protect the planet, have entrusted me with helping them succeed. What inspired me to do this again? Why did I not just turn myself in when I had the chance? Why am I letting some dead SOLDIER influence my decisions? He's dead, his friend is dying, and I'm the one who got them into this mess. I should not have let them go that night. I should have just done my job as ordered and been done with it.

The scent of smoke from the far corner permeates the air, one patron leaning back in his chair to study the bar as he puffs away on his cigarette. I inch my plate and wooden chair a little bit further to the left. I never much cared for the scent of smoke. Reminds me too much of Shinra's festering corruption.

"Told ya those damn spooks lurk in the shadows," Barret waves his fork at me as though scolding a small child. "_You _didn't believe me."

If only you knew what phantoms I've encountered. "And I still don't."

I take a sip my water and try to distract myself from my own threats by trying to figure out just how I am going to separate these peas and potatoes. For a few seconds, I can only observe them. Zack would have probably been there laughing at me over this. But, I think I am perfectly justified in not liking peas in my mashed potatoes. Never have, never will.

Who am I kidding? You cannot separate a mess like that and expect anything decent to come out of it. It's just not that simple.

"Damn foolish woman. Never listens to good advice when it is offered."

Barret's still criticizing me about those phantoms of his and waving that fork at me as though anything he's trying to tell me actually matters. Heh, it doesn't. What matters right now, are these peas and potatoes. They're so screwed up.

Kind of like my life. The peas being the Turk I was and the potatoes being the AVALANCHE member I have become. Together, they seem wrong, contradictory to one another, the rebels of the world coexisting like that. I try once again to separate them, once again managing to mash the peas deeper into the potatoes.

With a sigh, I finally give up and mix both together.

This is my life now. A jumbled up mess much like these two vegetables. I'm going to have to accept that. I cannot go back to my old life. I can only go forward, regardless of where it takes me.

That man in the corner continues to smoke his cigarette and comb the area with his eyes. He's looking for something. The way he taps his pale fingers against the grainy surface of the table and rests one polished shoe partially against the table leg like he owns the place. Normal people from down here do not shine their shoes. The starch scent of lavender mingles faintly amidst the smoky cloak shrouding his form, unnoticed to the patrons or any of my comrades.

But not unnoticed to a former Turk.

A light dusting of ash clings to the dark, almost unused velvet jacket and the light sheen of sweat lingering upon his forehead tells me what I fear. Office A-12, floor 62 of the Shinra Building under command of Reeve Tuesti, Head of Urban Development and Chief Engineer of Midgar. Mr. Domino, 'Mayor' of Midgar's upper plates himself, sitting there, in the corner of Seventh Heaven, smoking his cigarette and nervously looking for something.

Those bastards followed us.

"You hear anything I just said?"

"Every word," I reply, keeping an eye on Domino, watching as he nervously brushes his darker hair out of his eyes and leans forward a tiny bit. "You ever notice how peas and potatoes tend to hate one another?"

"Peas and potatoes? What in the hell was in your drink? That ain't what we've been talking about for the last couple of minutes! Jesus you're slow today, Jessie."

My right hand draws the fork quickly through the potatoes, mixing anything and everything together as I draw a small arrow towards Domino. With my left, I reach into the tiny leather pouch upon my belt for the last piece of materia to my collection.

"No," my voice drops into warning mode, the fork tapping the plate to draw Barret's attention. "I could have sworn I heard potatoes and peas mentioned."

"Eh, I never really liked peas all that much," Biggs scrunches his nose up at the offending vegetable and lightly inches his chair back, allowing Barret a better view of what I have seen.

"Actually," Barret nudges his glass aside, brow furrowed in thought. "I ain't been much of a potato man myself."

Wedge raises an eyebrow in understanding of the danger from the corner. "I don't see what's so wrong with them. They taste good either way."

Time to change the subject, my favorite part of being a former Turk. All Tseng needs to hear is that my name is Jessie and we'll all be killed.

"Potatoes used to grow really well back on the old farm out by Fort Condor. Peas, carrots, you name it, we grew 'em. Heh, guess I never expected to see them in the slums of all places…" The actual truth - the closest I've ever been to a row of carrots was when I had to cross a field of them to get out of Gongaga. But, he does not have to know that.

Domino shifts in his seat, contemplating listening further and extinguishes his cigarette. With the casual manner of a well educated gentleman, he finishes his drink and simply sits there, waiting, listening. The distinct click of a recorder can be heard as he stands up to leave.

I knew it.

Barret seems to sense something is wrong and looks between me and Domino. "Jessie?"

Domino staggers to the right, falling against the table. The glass cracks upon impact with the floor, a low groan escaping his throat as he rubs his forehead and looks around as though he's not too certain where he is right now.

Tifa raises an eyebrow and moves to assist him, but I am quicker.

"I got this one, Tifa."

The tingle of the mastered Confusion materia in my hand continues to spread along my wrist, ready should I need to use it again. Domino blinks and tries to regain a sense of what happened as I casually escort him to the door. With the skill of a thief, I retrieve the recording device and remove the tape, slipping it back into his pocket without his knowledge and watch him stagger towards Sector Six to catch the train home.

Two can play this game Shinra.


	25. Chicken Soup

**Chapter Twenty Five - Chicken Soup**

It is raining in Sector Seven today. Not here in the slums exactly, but on the plate above. I lean against the doorframe, watching the water cascade through the fractures in the pavement of the city, drumming upon the scrap metal roof with a metallic clinking sound. Mist rises from the uneven surfaces as the cold and stifling heat mingle, a sinister fog tinged with the sparkle of mako light oozing from the lampposts swirling across the dirt and concrete streets to encase the buildings in a mythical phenomenon.

It's almost too beautiful, like something lifted from the mind of an visionary artist and painted over the hideous canvas known as Sector Seven. If it wasn't for the dull throb of my leg reminding me that I'm not asleep, it might have been but a fleeting dream.

Marlene claps her tiny hands together with joy, the fringes of her sunflower yellow dress sodden with mud as she splashes barefoot in one of the newly formed puddles by the porch, frigid water surging around her with each forceful stomp and resounding laugh. Barret merely smiles and swoops her up onto his shoulders, carrying her with an excited whoop through the cascading curtain of water separating the makeshift street into quarters.

Wedge rocks back in the ancient rocking chair with a smile at the pair's antics, his drink balanced precariously along the arm of the ancient chair as it squeaks against the warped boards beneath it. He seems pretty comfortable with the arrangement, those patient eyes watching the events unfolding as though bottling these precious moments up and storing them away deep within his memory. Just like a wise old man.

Biggs casually straddles the porch railing, one arm wrapped around the rotting support column and the other extended to catch the water streaming from a break in the gutters. Like a little kid would do.

It seems so strange, watching the rain from beneath the plate. Seeing the oh-so-terrible terrorist leader of AVALANCHE dancing and splashing in the puddles with his daughter, shedding his tough guy exterior for the vulnerable man he is.

Right now, the mighty corrupt icon towering above us all does not matter. Only the cleansing rain pouring down upon our little corner of the world. There are no monsters here today. Just us. The renegade wannabe terrorists.

Today, there is no death. No funeral in the rain. No calloused hands moving mud to accommodate the body of a fallen friend. Today, as the rain falls, there is life.

Something frigid splatters against my cheek and upper shirt sleeve. I reach for my shuriken out of habit to the threat, finding nothing but the leather pouch for my materia. Guess I left it inside in my limping rush to see the rain. A second barrage of water droplets catches me from the porch rail.

"Biggs!" I wipe the water from my cheek and draw my cloak protectively across my shoulder, retreating out of range. A mischievous grin crosses his face. "Knock it off!"

"Aw, what's the matter, Jessie? Afraid of a little bit of water?"

I can see the wheels turning in his head. He's plotting something. No doubt it will involve that puddle of water and me.

"It's annoying."

He leans out further to catch more water in his hands, the sound of footsteps approaching from the bar.

"Jessie, are you out here?" Tifa peers out of the door right as Biggs manages to throw a handful of water against his better judgment. Uh oh. Not good.

For a moment, the martial artist studies him, allowing Wedge the opportunity to drag the rocking chair out of range of the kick. Smart man.

Wood splinters with a crack, the railing falling out from beneath my comrade as he falls with a whimpering shout of protest - directly into the puddle below. He kinda deserved it.

Tifa shakes her raven hair from her eyes and brushes the flour dusted apron with her hands, watching Barret and Marlene continue to gallivant in the rain and Wedge try to assist his comrade out of the mud.

"What do you need, Tifa?"

"I need your help with something."

I grasp the porch railing, the calloused wood rough against my fingertips. It's written in her furrowed brow and weary eyes. The Mako Poisoning must have gotten worse.

"What do you need me to do?" I reply, that horrid feeling creeping into my soul again. What if he passed away? My amber eyes catch a brief glimpse of the falling rain. It only rains when someone dies. It rained for Zack. Why would it not rain for Cloud?

The slums feel a little colder than they did just moments ago.

She beckons me towards the bar, a light sprig in her step despite the circumstances.

I never even said good bye to him.

"He said something strange the other day."

Wait. I hesitate at the base of the stairwell while Tifa collects what appears to be a ceramic bowl and some utensils from the kitchen. What do you mean by 'he said something strange?' All he should be capable of at this stage is low moans and groans. My heart leaps a little bit, allowing a tiny shred of hope to invade the otherwise hopeless wastelands of disappointment. Could he really be -

"This whole week he's been muttering something about a red haired woman who was hurt. Claims she was badly injured in a helicopter crash and that he brought her to a guy in the slums, but he never got the chance to see if she was still alive. I tried asking for more details, but all he kept saying was that he needed to find her, that Zack was dead."

The guilt-tipped spears of the words pierce my soul with their venomous points. He remembers everything from those brief, lucid moments in between the waves of ravaging mako coursing through his veins. He tried to find me.

"It was the mako talking," I reassure her, trying to gather what little courage I have as the stairs loom and I've little choice but to follow. What if he loses it again?

"That's what I assumed, but I thought that maybe - you having red hair and all-"

"Just because I have auburn hair does not mean that he won't suffer another hallucination and lose it again," I warn, placing a hand against the wall to steady myself. This is not how I anticipated spending my day. I do not need to be mocked and ridiculed by my failures yet again. The rain today is bad enough. Seeing Cloud in whatever state he's in is another story. Am I really up to this?

No. No I'm not.

"Maybe he'll talk to you though."

Last time, Cloud's version of talking involved nearly fracturing my skull with a lamp. Best case, he doesn't remember who I am. Worse case scenario, he immediately recalls the precious little he knows about me and informs Tifa that I was indeed, one of Shinra's finest little lapdogs.

Please don't remember me Cloud. For once, don't remember anything about me.

The door screeches upon its worn hinges as she hands me the bowl of soup, the salty aroma of some sort of chicken filling the air. There is a light shuffle of the sheets, his pale hand draping lazily towards the floor and twitching at the sound.

"Cloud?"

When did she learn his name all of a sudden? I cannot help but feel a little apprehensive about this whole thing. Call it Turk intuition. I never said anything about his name being Cloud to her.

He groans and burrows beneath the covers once again.

"I brought you some lunch," Tifa picks her way closer to the bed and draws the rickety chair closer. "Chicken, your favorite right?"

Another groan, much like a little kid protesting getting up to go to school. He swats at her hand and she smiles, drawing the covers back slightly and allowing the dull light to fall across his form.

His mop of hair is still unkempt and resembling that of a misguided chocobo, but there's a little bit of color back in his face. Not much, but a faint splash of rose mingling amidst the stark white from a week and a half ago. He looks a little better. A good sign.

"You're going to behave today right? No throwing things," she scolds, helping him to sit up and resting his back against the headboard of the bed. His cloudy mako eyes stare listlessly at things only he can see. Still the same Cloud I remember.

There is a crash from the floor below, making me flinch. Sounds like the boys have decided they've had enough fun in the rain.

"Hey, Tifa!" Biggs calls from the base of the stairwell. From the brief creak of a muddy leather boot upon the first rickety piece of wood, he's thinking about coming up here. "You got anything for lacerations caused by splinters?"

Tifa sighs and takes a fleeting look at Cloud. "Do you mind-"

Yes, I mind, but right now, Cloud's discovery would not be a welcomed question and answer yell fest I want to field as referee. Wait, you're not thinking about leaving me here -

"I'll only be gone for a few minutes. Promise."

More like an hour. I try to prevent the uneasy feeling at being alone with a potential homicidal Mako Poisoning victim from making me drop the bowl of soup in my quivering hands.

"Hey, you'll be fine. He's been pretty out of it all week. No episodes of rage since that day."

I don't need someone to reassure me, Tifa. "Talking to you coherently about some woman in a helicopter crash counts."

He obviously mentioned his name somewhere along the line as well, if _you_ know it.

"So he's had a few more lucid moments than normal," she shrugs, stepping into the hallway. "I'm sure you can handle him if he gets out of hand."

"Your confidence in my abilities astounds me," I respond with the enthusiasm of a chocobo who's just been told to cross a raging river full of piranhas. Looks like I'm not getting out of this no matter how hard I try.

She casually waves a hand towards the bed where Cloud sits, watching this whole fiasco. "Fifteen minutes tops. You'll be fine."

And, just like that, the sound of her hurrying down the stairs reaches my ears. Fantastic. I turn back to Cloud and stir the soup a few times. Might as well get this over with.

"Hey, Cloud." I take my seat upon the rickety chair, half expecting him to reach out and hit me. This is ridiculous. I'm flinching at something that is unlikely to happen. Tseng would definitely have a few choice words for me over this one. And Zack. What would Zack think about this? A former Turk, instinctively afraid of someone like Cloud in his current state.

He's got Mako Poisoning, I remind myself. He did not mean it last time. He thought I was a Shinra infantryman trying to hurt him.

The rain drums intermittently against the sheets of metal covering the support beams of the mismatched roof, casting the eerily beautiful light from outside through the curtains and across the flowery quilted sheets.

"Tifa sent lunch up for you." He looks at me once again with those cloudy eyes, as though trying to figure out what was going on. "I think she said it was some sort of chicken, but I'm not sure."

"C-chicken…" His voice is raspy, rusty from the lack of use. He reaches a trembling hand towards the bowl, hesitating, brow furrowed in thought. "I d-don't like chicken."

Okay…Where did that come from all of a sudden? I thought Tifa said chicken was his favorite.

"Why don't you like chicken?" I venture, a little curious.

"Too salty." He wrinkles his nose at the prospect of the soup as I stir it once again. "And too chickeny."

There's a new word. How can chicken soup be too chickeny? Hmmm. That's one that's going to keep me up at night for a while. Only one other person on Gaia might have described chicken soup like that.

"Where'd you hear a word like that anyway?" And here I was expecting him to be homicidal about the military trying to invade his room. It's phenomenal that he's even saying this much after wandering so close to death. Aerith's herbs must be helping.

He blinks his unfocused eyes a few times, as though trying to remember something from deep within his mako clouded mind.

"I don't know," the weary sense of defeat tinges his tone. "I-I don't know."

I gently place a hand upon his trembling shoulder as he shivers.

"Why don't I know?" Like a little kid inquiring, he looks at me. My soul aches at that look. I want so desperately to help him, to get rid of the Mako Poisoning and experiments that robbed him of four years of his life. I, I can't do anything to help him.

"Hey, it doesn't matter," I try to reassure him, scooping some of the liquid into the spoon and offering it to him. "You'll remember sooner or later."

His hand trembles as he grasps the spoon unsteadily, nearly sending most of the soup in it across the sheets. I gently steady his hand with my own. He's going to be okay. I just know it. He has to be.

A week ago, I would not have believed it. But now- Oh, Zack, I hope that wherever you are, you can see this. He's alive thanks to you. Every second he is growing stronger.

"It's good," he grudgingly admits, reaching the spoon for the bowl and missing. I guide his hand to it once again, helping him. "Thank you."

"No problem. Everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes."

His eyes widen in surprise, as though something locked away from him has been unlocked by something in the phrase. I've seen that look before, shortly before he descended right into hallucination mode.

Wait, hadn't I said something about help before-

"Cloud?" Here we go. I've single handedly managed to undo his progress this entire week. How could I be so damn stupid.

"I-I know you from somewhere."

Huh? He's looking at me again, pondering something only he knows.

"You were hurt," he grasps my scarred right hand feebly, his cloudy eyes studying it as though there is some sort of mystery written upon it. "In a helicopter crash."

Frigid tendrils of fear prick along the back of my neck, every hair standing on end as though someone is standing behind me, looking down over my shoulder with their ghostly gaze. A pair of ghostly hands rest upon my shoulders, making me lean forward in an effort to shake them off. I need to get out of here. I'm so sorry Cloud. I, I can't let you go any further with that story than you already have.

"No," I whisper. "You have me confused with someone else."

"No, I've seen you before." He seems pretty adamant about this. "You were scared and hurt. I, I thought you were going to die before we reached Midgar."

"You are mistaken," I wince at the prang of guilt this lie carries with it. "I've never been beyond Midgar's slums."

"I-" he looks down at the sheets in defeat. "I needed to tell her about Zack. She needed to know about Zack. He would have wanted her to know what happened to him."

The rain drums crueler upon the roof, deafening to the uncomfortable chill to the room. I don't believe in ghosts, but, something about the way he says Zack makes everything seem colder than usual. As if, in the past few minutes, someone cast blizzaga right behind me.

"She was his friend," he gestures to the SOLDIER uniform neatly folded upon the dresser. "Zack said they would kill her if they ever found out what she did for us. I kept her ID card so I could find her again. I need to tell her what happened to Zack. She needs to know."

An unsettling silence settles upon the air. I just cannot bear to look at him right now. Those pleading eyes of his, so scared, so determined.

"Everything okay, Jessie?" Tifa's voice echoes from the stairwell with the sound of her boots striking the coarse floorboards.

"Everything's fine," I reply, a little quieter than usual. Everything's far from fine. Cloud's looking for someone who no longer exists.

He tries another spoonful of the soup. "Jessie? Will you help me find her?"

A simple request, so innocent and naïve. I sigh and try to smile at the prospect, helping him with the spoon once again.

"I'll help you find her, Cloud. I promise."

That's a promise I know I will keep.


	26. Printer Problems

**Hi there folks. I finally found time to work on this story a bit and decided to make up for not posting anything for a while by giving you a couple of chapters in bulk. :) I'm working on several more now that I'm back in the mindset and hope to get them up soon. (Lazy Muse decided to run off on me right after I wrote the most recent mission for 'One Hundred Tiny Missions' and I couldn't find her for a few days.) This chapter is kind of one of those well needed mellow ones, and, since I've been trying to get my own 'Mako Spider' out of the corner right above my office here, I felt it was appropriate. Now you folks enjoy this update while I go to find some way to get rid of that thing staring at me in the corner. It's kinda freaking me out...**

**Chapter Twenty Six - Printer Problems**

Two seconds.

I jerk the wires back into position, the light whiff of overheated metal and recently used ink drifting upon the air. Two lousy seconds. Could Shinra build a more unreliable printer than the T-132 Series? Apparently so, as I'm looking right at it, watching the stupid little sparks dance around the mocking little red light blinking at me with that ominous look about it.

And I was on the last ID too…

All right you miserable piece of plastic, this means war now. I reach for the screwdriver that rolled under the crate in my mad dash to avoid being caught in the backlash of electricity when it decided it was not going to print one more sinful piece of paper in its lifetime. No piece of office supplies gets past me and lives to tell the tale. Not the office copier on the Department of Administrative Research floor. Not this excuse for a printer.

Must not let a stupid piece of metal, plastic, and Shinra executive wiring win this battle. Need to finish this last ID card.

I move the screwdriver towards the screws holding the outer case together.

"Shouldn't you unplug it first?"

No, I might as well ram this screwdriver into the wall socket you moron.

"It is unplugged." I gesture to the vacant rat's nest of wiring by the wall, where the printer cable remains separate from everything. Haven't these people ever heard of the surge protector?

Biggs cocks his head to the side and scratches his chin. "Possessive little bugger ain't it? Told ya there was a demon renting an apartment in there."

"Well, I'm about to evict him and unpossess it then." The screws click as they fall into my outstretched hand, only to be deposited into the small plastic tray I shanghaied from the pantry for such a purpose.

"Good luck with that. Wedge and I've been trying to make it leave since we bought the damn thing."

The casing lifts away, leaving a sticky residue trailing behind. What the-

Every muscle in my body freezes at the wave of invisible, frigid water pouring down my spine. My pulsed quickens, heart beating loud enough to leave that uncomfortable throbbing in my ears. My hands tremble, sweat making the leather half gloves a little more supple.

Don't drop the casing. I try to will my quivering fingers to listen as I slowly push the crate back with the heels of my boots, trying to prevent my knees from striking the underside of the unbalanced table. Don't make any sudden movements. Just back away slowly, Cissnei. Yeah, real slow. You'll be fine.

Why didn't I wear my star pendant today? Oh, right, because I was fixing the printer.

"Biggs…" my voice barely escapes my throat with a terrified squeak. Star pendant. Where did I put my star pendant? My eyes fall upon the little corner of basement that I have claimed for my own. By the rolled up blanket serving as my pillow. It's in my materia pouch. A lot of good that does me now.

"Holy shit, look at the size of those spiders! Hey, Wedge! You gotta see this man!"

Wait, no! Don't-

He bounds away with a whoop of excitement, scampering up to the first floor.

Leave...

The hideous, hairy first pair of legs reach out over the edge of the plastic before I can slam the casing back on the printer.

"No. Stay," I frantically whisper, the second pair reaching out, as though hunting for the source of their displacement. A pair of beady black eyes, several actually, catch a glimpse of the light, making them radiate an eerie green glow. A vicious streak of blood red sweeps across the upper half of its body.

A Mako Spider, native to Mideel, and one of the most poisonous in existence. Capable of killing a grown chocobo in less than ten minutes after being bit. The only reason Tseng even made any of us invest in star pendants.

The second and third pairs of legs extend with agonizing speed over the edge of the printer case. For a moment, I once again consider slamming the case back onto the printer and running for my life. But the moment I do, whatever was shaken loose from the initial movement will probably scurry across the floor and up my pantleg, if it hasn't started already. And I remember overhearing Zack mention something about them being able to jump…

The thunder of boots across the floor above rattles some dust loose from the floorboards, making the spiders arch their backs slightly, a distinctive clicking sound filling the air.

"Hey, guys-" One of the spiders lunges forward, feigning an attack and rearing onto its hind legs, fangs lightly visible beneath its hairy body. The second and third ones mimic their leader.

I'm about to be bitten by the spider version of Barret…

It springs forward like a rabid wolf for my neck, colliding with a wall of glass materializing around it. The clicking of its comrades fills the air in rage, a pair of calloused hands preventing them from advancing forward.

"Sweet. Mideelian Mako Spiders!" Wedge tosses the sealed jar to his smirking companion who taps the glass like an ass, watching the spider strike its fangs against the glass. The remaining pair wriggle to free themselves from the expert grasp of the plump man's fingers.

The case falls from my hands as I leap backwards, tripping over the crate, and frantically brush my hands over my clothes and hair. Damn creepy crawly sensation pricking along my skin. Please don't let there be any spiders crawling on my clothes.

"You okay, Jessie? You look a little pale there."

Poisonous spiders…He just picked up a venomous spider with his bare hands…Not just any poisonous spider, but _the_ most venomous in existence. These people are freaks.

"Jessie?"

"Get. It. Away. From. Me. Right. Now." I grit my teeth and steadily back away from the insane fat man I call a comrade.

"He ain't gonna hurt anyone." Holy he looks pretty damn proud of himself right now. "See? He's a friendly little bugger."

The spider clicks its fangs in venomous hatred at Wedge, who continues to hold it in front of me.

"Ain't ya, Rosco?"

He named it…Dear lord what have I gotten into? Angry men with guns grafted into their arms who will shoot you before you even get in the door right. An insomniac bartender who brings home comatose former infantrymen. And now two freaks who enjoy playing with venomous spiders. And I thought my former comrades were strange.

"I'm calling this one Victor." Biggs holds the jar up like some sort of trophy, the spider spinning a frantic web and continuing to ram against the glass.

"Whatcha calling yours?"

Mine? The blood freezes in my veins at the words. I've done some crazy thing in my lifetime, but I am not about to add keeping a venomous spider as a pet to that list. Instead, I intend to be known as the former Turk who ran for her life out of Seventh Heaven due to a spider.

Tifa looks up from the pot of stew she is stirring in the kitchen as I storm past, keeping a watchful eye for the boys and their bugs trying to follow me. "Jessie, Barret's looking for you."

Great. Thank god. Wonder what he wants? If this is about the ID cards, I'm not certain I even want to mention that we had a major eight-legged problem that might just take a month to fix, or as long as it takes me to go back to the basement willingly again.

"He's out by the old scrap heap, the one down by Johnny's house."

Talking to Barret beats watching the boys play with venomous spiders any day.

"All right. Be back in a bit."

The air has a pleasant nip to it this afternoon. Just enough to make me draw my cloak snug around my shoulders, but not enough to make me shiver. Winter should be arriving soon. Maybe. I wonder if it gets as cold down here as it does on the upper plates?

Several children race about by the old chain link fence, kicking a rusty can back and forth. I stop to watch, the can bouncing with a clunky chime between two wedges of metal serving as what I can only assume are goal posts of some sort. Two boys give high fives to one another, while the remainder hurry to retrieve the can and set up for another round.

Marlene's playing with the boys today, and from the looks of it, she's not doing half bad. Shouting something about points, she gives the can a swift kick and the game resumes. Barret must be proud.

A second boy jogs alongside her, fending off those who try to steal the can from her. He looks a little like Genesis in a way. Sort of a dusty brown tint to his hair, and bright greenish blue eyes, determined not to lose. Only, he's closer to Marlene's age, and not a sociopath as far as I can tell.

"They get pretty intense sometimes." I jump at the sound of Barret's voice right behind me.

"Looks that way," I reply, turning away from the game to face him. "Tifa said you wanted to see me about something."


	27. A Conflict of Interest

**Chapter Twenty Seven - A Conflict of Interest**

If this isn't a conflict of interest, nothing is.

"How'd ya do that again?"

"It's simple," I clutch the fully mastered Blizzaga materia in my hand, the frigid tingle radiating along my wrist. "Just look at your target and recite the spell in your mind."

The row of rusted cans ricochets from the fallen beam they were perched upon, the ice crystals lingering upon the air in a fine residual mist for several seconds after. Barret continues to stare in mild shock, looking down at the first level Fire materia in his hand.

"Shit. I think this is broken."

It's not broken. You're just not listening to anything I've been trying to say for the past two hours.

Yes, a former Turk training the leader of a terrorist organization how to use materia effectively. A conflict of interest indeed.

With a defeated sigh, I line the rusted cans up once again along the fallen beam. He's thinking about how this works. That I have to give credit for. But as to actually listening, some work is definitely needed. And these people want to fight Shinra…

"Your materia is fine. Just look at the cans and think fire-" Better wait until I'm out of the way first though. My luck he'll master it then.

He clutches the glowing crimson orb and glares at the row of offending former containers.

And-

Throws the materia at them.

Not quite what I had in mind.

"God damn mother-"

"You give up way too easily." I pick up the piece of materia and dust it off with my shirtsleeve. It emits an eerie glow as I look towards the cans and back to Barret. Hmmm, choices choices. Mind made up, I throw the piece of materia back at him, watching it land with a pathetic thud at his feet.

"I ain't much for these magic tricks, Jessie."

Well I'm too damn stubborn to admit defeat. Now pick up that piece of materia and pay attention to what I tell you or I'll show you exactly what a basic level fire spell can do. And it won't be pretty either.

"They are not magic tricks," I respond, a little indignant that he would think them as such. "They are a useful weapon when you are in a tight spot."

Like the other night, with Domino lurking around.

"Just a bunch of magic tricks to me. Can't I just shoot them?"

"No. Just try it again. You'll eventually get this. I know you will. Try saying the word out loud this time."

His brow furrows in concentration, as though the rusted cans have become the world's most threatening item. Clutching the Fire materia once again, he takes a hesitant step forward.

"Fire."

A tiny spark dances from the orb, falling short of the cans. He looks down at the piece of materia lying at his feet.

"The little shit burned me!"

"Materia is a strange thing. That's how you know it's working." Tseng always told me that the stronger the sensation of the materia, the more comfortably you are with it. "Try it again. Angrier this time."

"But it will melt my skin off! You try it first." This irritating piece of materia is once again in my hands. I never especially liked fire. Too hot and uncontrollable. That was always Rude's thing. Still, it's a basic spell. I can handle that no problem.

The familiar sensation as though resting a hand against the sun warmed sands of Costa Del Sol envelopes my hand, the image of a fire-

Twisted wreckage. Flames. Steam rising out of the rain. Being trapped. No. Wait. This isn't right! Stop!

Fire tears across my vision, scalding my hands and spiraling through the air into the metal with a rattling explosion, knocking me backwards in a rush of molten air.

My hands…I look down at them, half expecting them to be covered in soot, or the flesh torn away by the heat. Same old calloused pale. No hint of any damage from the materia. The tender scar across my right hand flares angrily. New rule. No more Fire materia. I'm sticking to Blizzaga, Thundaga, Libra, and Confusion. Screw Fire.

Never mind. Make that no more Fira materia.

"What the hell was that?" Barret looks down at me and then to the smoldering cans, some still crackling with molten rage. I turn the piece of materia over in my hands, this weird sense of curiosity prompting me to do it.

"I just leveled up your materia by accident." This is gonna hurt in the morning. "Enjoy your new Fira materia."

"Ya mean I gotta learn a new spell? What the hell are you thinking?"

I wasn't. It just sorta happened that way. My experiences with fire must have triggered the damn thing to level up accordingly. Absolutely wonderful. Note to self, never pick up a level one spell again.

"As you use materia, it matures, gaining power. Eventually," I point to the Fira orb and dust myself off. "It stores enough energy to morph into a whole other spell. Sometimes, if you're a real nut, you can try fusing a few together to see what type of new spells you can get."

He turns the orb over in his hand, pretending to be interested in it, all while watching the fire piddle out by the targets. "There's more of these little shits?"

Such language.

"Thousands. Be careful though," I warn. Not that he will listen to any of it. "The more powerful the spell, the more powerful the wave of energy returned can be when it gains a level. Once you master it, you don't have to worry about it anymore. It just kinda radiates a little bit of energy to show you it still works."

"Sounds complicated and dangerous. I got enough things to worry about. You handle the materia aspect of things."

I fumble to catch the stupid piece of Fira materia he throws to me. Great, one more thing to worry about.

"It would be a good idea to learn how to at least use it if you need to," I try to advise him. You never know when you'll be caught off guard and I won't always be around to save your ass.

He glares, firing a few rounds at the cans. "Don't go telling me what's a good and bad idea!"

Sheesh. Fine. Like I actually expected you to listen to anything I was going to say anyway. Maybe I'll try Biggs and Wedge about this.

I wonder if they got their spider situation under control yet. Knowing them, they probably set up a little ring and are hosting spider fights right now. I would not put it past them at all.

"It was just a suggestion."

The sound of little feet and shouts echoes from around the pile of twisted steel. Sounds like the game of impromptu soccer is over.

Marlene gallops across the cluttered street, that boy who looks like Genesis following. They must have won, if the smiles and looks of joy on their faces are any indication at all. I casually step out of their path, watching Barret kneel down to envelop his daughter in a hug. It's funny how a man like him can go from being ready to murder one minute and be friendly as a moogle the next.

Tifa is waiting for us when we all arrive back at Seventh Heaven, a look of disapproval written across her face. Somehow, I doubt this has anything to do with Cloud this time. At least I hope not.

"Hi, Ms. Lockheart," the younger version of Genesis greets as if he was a regular here.

Tifa acknowledges him with a smile and a nod. "Hello Denzel."

Denzel. I'll have to remember that one.

Biggs peers out of the kitchen, glass jar in hand. "Hey little guy. Wanna see something cool?"

"It stays in the jar, Biggs," she threatens. They still have their spiders I can only assume. Great. Looks like I'll be sleeping in the pantry doorway tonight.

"Cool!" Biggs smirks and leads the way out to the porch to show the two children his catch of the day.

"In the jar! Keep it in the jar!"

"I will. Don't get your bra in a twist, Tifa."

Even Reno would never say something that bold. And, it looks like Biggs's is going to have a black eye to go with his splinters for a few days too. Ouch.

"Barret, you would be wise to supervise your kids. And I'm not talking about Marlene this time," she gestures to my unfortunate comrade who is being mocked by the spider in the jar. No doubt Wedge is around here too, spiders in hand. "Those spiders are venomous."

"Shit, Tifa. Spiders give me the creeps."

"Just go. They've caused enough problems today."

He grudgingly storms off to 'supervise' the boys and their bugs. At least I'm not the only one nervous about the eight legged menaces.

Tifa wipes a cloth over the bar with a sigh. "I made the boys clean out the printer. It should be spider free now."

"Thanks. Maybe now I can actually get some work done."

I still have Wedge's ID to finish yet; add the little magnetic strips, and then laminate them. Hopefully, pending no further distractions, I'll have them done by tomorrow. Wishful thinking.

"He seems a little better today," she measures a cup of flour to add to the stew. "Hasn't said anything lately, but he seems to be sleeping better at least."

"He looked a lot better than he did."

It's true, he had looked a lot better. Still. I can't help but feel that there is something sinister lurking in the wings, waiting for the right moment to pounce on us. Something we're missing. He's recovering almost too quickly. It's almost as though he's not even human.

What did Hojo do to them in that mansion basement?


	28. Close Encounters

**Chapter Twenty Eight - Close Encounters of the Shinra Kind **

Something big must be going on at Corporate.

I watch the infantryman strut by, Shinra Issued MP Automatic in hand and visor drawn to conceal his eyes. Three others follow at that stiff, forced gait, quickly parting a group of people with the butts of their weapons.

Something's up.

I step closer to the crowd, keeping my back pressed against the wall and the closest alley in view should the need arise for a quick escape. From across the street, Biggs mimics the motion, equally curious about what's going on in Sector Six today. One thing's for certain, if Scarlet's little butcher brigade is here, someone important must be here as well. The question is who.

A civilian falls to the ground clutching his bruised shoulder in disbelief, the infantryman threatening to shoot him if he even so much as moves. It's things like this that piss me of worse than anything. What right do they have thinking they are like gods over the people down here? Bossing everyone around like they are various livestock. It's enough to make one sick.

Three more civilians stagger away from the crowd at the control of the infantrymen and their guns. I'm surprised no one's been killed yet.

A flick of dark midnight blue against the shadows to my left. Like a sweeping raven, it moves past the infantrymen with gliding strides, a look of hardened determination and stoic duty in his eyes. Tseng's here. Must be the president himself then.

His hand rests upon the butt of the pistol at his side, ready a moment's notice to kill whoever gets in his way. A light twitch of his upper lip and the brief flick of his eyes from left to right. He's a little annoyed about something. I follow his gaze with my own, trying to see past the minor battalion of infantrymen stationed throughout Wall Market and beyond. Looks like most of the security is focused around the Don's place. Interesting.

"This place is crawling with Shinra lapdogs today," Biggs joins me in the shadows to watch. "Wonder what's the big occasion?"

"The president's here," I whisper, catching a brief glimpse of Rude's bald head from the far left.

"You sure?"

"The Leader of the Turks is here. Yeah, I'm sure."

Tseng never leaves his office for field work unless he has to. The fact that he's here can only mean that it's the president himself. No doubt Reno and Rude are hanging out somewhere in the crowd. Wonder if Elena's doing this aspect of my old job as well? If she is, I wish her the best of luck. I always hated guarding Mr. Shinra and his son.

One was arrogant as sin, and Rufus was just an ass. The only reason any of us actually gave a damn about those missions was because those two would decide if we got paid or not.

"Think it's something serious?"

They're paying Don Corneo a personal visit. How can it not be serious?

"I don't think they'd be here for the Don's women or the cartel. Let's get back to Seventh Heaven before we're noticed."

Being shot at today is not something I want to deal with. Better warn Barret the Turks are around, lest they feel compelled to stop in for a 'friendly' chat.

Denzel and Marlene are struggling to build a miniature replica of Midgar out of playing cards when we return. It's not to shabby either. A little square, but otherwise, they seem to have a concept of how this place is put together. From what I can tell, Sector Seven isn't quite built yet. Wedge looks up from the project, somewhat surprised to see us back so soon, and with only a few of the items we were supposed to be obtaining.

"What's up guys?"

I set my rucksack upon the table and begin sorting through the items. More potions, elixirs, and other curative items we seem to go through quicker than water. "The president's in town, visiting the Don."

Wedge scratches his chin with a thoughtful look, as though there is something not quite right about the words. The president doesn't just 'visit' anybody.

"I never knew he swung that way. You gonna check into it, Jessie?"

Oh course. I'm more interested in why the Turks are lurking around than I am the president though.

"Right after I get this stuff sorted and put away. Where's Barret and Tifa?"

"Out playing with trains," he casually states. "Said something about going up to the upper plates about something earlier. Not sure what it was though."

Probably testing the new ID cards. Hopefully, everything will go well for them. Those cards are as close as we're going to get to the real thing. I set another bottle of potion against the group and look for a place on the usual shelf to set them.

"Why do you separate them like that? They're just gonna get all mixed up anyway."

Denzel's looking at me strange, as though arranging everything into neat little piles is a foreign concept down here.

"Because it makes them easier to put away."

There's truth in that statement. I can fit more items on the pantry shelf in an easier to get to and find arrangement this way. Tifa doesn't seem to mind. One less thing she has to worry about.

"It's still weird. Momma says that sorting stuff here in the slums is a waste of time. That it's easier to just read the labels until you find what you're looking for."

I'm being bossed around by a six year old…

The sudden weight of an all too familiar sweaty arm across my shoulders and the presence taking a seat beside me make me reach for my shuriken. "You should see how she keeps her little corner of the world. Rolls her blanket up every morning at exactly 4:30 and even sweeps the place with a broom."

I glare. What I do in my makeshift section of the basement is none of this kid's business.

"You should try it sometime. Then maybe I wouldn't trip over your stuff on my way to the printer."

"She's got you there, buddy."

"Can it, Wedge. You're no better. What'd ya do with those spiders anyway?" An impish smirk crosses his face at the prospect of them still being loose. Better watch myself tonight, lest one of those things ends up on my pillow trying to chew my arm off.

Thankfully, Wedge seems to understand what he is thinking and shrugs. "Meh, put them in jars. Tifa said they were 'dangerous.'"

Before I can stop him, Biggs grabs my shuriken, holding it up to the dull mako light. Dangerous is an understatement and a half.

"You actually any good with this thing?" The light catches in the inlaid steel, mesmerizing to the children.

"As a matter of fact, yes I am," the cold steel grazes my half glove as I reach for it, only to have him hold it further away.

"Gives me an idea. You said you still had those spiders right, Wedge?"

A shiver of warning courses through my veins. Great. He's going to turn Rekka into some sort of spider habitat.

"Calm down, Jessie. I ain't gonna make you go near the spiders if that's what you're worried about. I was just thinking about how you can make this thing a little more effective."

It is effective you jackass. Now give it back. My feet slip against the floor as I lunge for it, only to end up knocking most of the potions and elixirs together with my elbow. Denzel ducks for cover beside Marlene with an impish laugh.

"It's effective enough, Biggs-" I warn, once again trying to retrieve my weapon from his grasp.

"But think of how much _more_ effective this weapon could be with a little venom on the edges-"

He drops the shuriken as I ram my fist into his shoulder, momentarily paralyzing the muscle. For a moment, he stares in shock, uncertain of what to say. Did I really strike him that hard?

I avert my eyes in shame.

The Turks were infamous for doing just about anything to get the job done, regardless of who got hurt along the way. We killed a lot of people - some innocent, and others, the most vile beings to walk the earth. But, the one thing I never did, was sink low enough to add poison to my weapon. I do not wish to start.

"All right, fine. No venom. Gotcha. But think about it okay?"

"It's not that it is a bad idea-" Truthfully, he's got something there. It really is one of the more decent things he's come up with. I just can't morally fathom doing it. "But I'm just not comfortable with the idea."

"Ya change your mind, let me know. Wedge's got plenty of spiders."

So he's keeping them as pets. Fantastic. I turn back to the potion bottles with a sigh, once again sorting them as the kids resume construction on Sector Seven of their little version of Midgar. Something just feels, wrong.


	29. A Collector of Cursed Weapons

**Whoot! Got three chapters up on time this week! That's probably how you're going to be getting this story for a while, in groups of chapters. :) Partially because it's easier for me to just write a few and then post them than it is to go one by one, and partially because I'm lazy. Either way you guys win. Anywho, enjoy the latest update and I'm hoping to be wrapping this ficup soon. :) If you haven't voted already, check out my profile and vote in the poll. I'm seeing some interesting responses on that thing. :raises eyebrows: Wonder who the unfortunate, obsessive poll taker was? Heh, interesting stuff. **

**Chapter Twenty Nine - A Collector of Cursed Weapons**

Nothing. Absolutely nothing on why the president might be visiting Don Corneo of all people. I tap the keys quicker, imputing my information and running another search through the e-mails.

Not one bulletin regarding Sector Six either. Hmmm. Something big must be going on if Tseng's not even sending mission briefing e-mails to anyone. That doesn't bode well for AVALANCHE.

Did they find out I've been keeping tabs on them from the shadow of cyberspace? No, I've been more cautious than usual. If they knew, we'd already be on the executioner's block. Domino maybe? No, he couldn't even find his way home that night.

I run a hand through my damp hair with a sigh. It's too early for this crap.

"Maybe he was just horny," Biggs grumbles, drawing the covers over his head and burrowing closer to the wall. He always hates it when I'm up this early, but I can't seem to get a decent remotely lukewarm shower any other way. That, and I get more done at this hour than I do all day.

"Poor prostitute. Hope he paid her extremely well," Wedge answers from the opposite side of the room, equally out of it. "I wouldn't even be that desperate."

"You'd be desperate for anything."

"Go to Hell, Biggs."

"You're coming with me."

"Damn straight."

These two argue even when they're half asleep. I sigh, watching the numbers scroll across the screen. Once again, I'm about to be disappointed.

**No items related to your search found.**

Figures.

There has to be something I'm missing. But what? I've run searches on nearly everything I can think of, turning up nothing of use. No one visits Don Corneo for a casual visit. They want something.

"What are you up to, Tseng?" I flip through the database once more. "Why were you guys and Scarlet's butchers in Sector Six yesterday?"

There is a light thud of groggy feet crossing the bar floor above us. Tifa's awake at least. Maybe she'd have an idea where to start looking for answers to this nagging question.

The clock ticks at the edge of the screen. A part of me wants this answer - no - _needs_ this answer now. Call it impatience. Call it being a little brat. Call it what you will. But I need to know exactly what was said yesterday between Don Corneo and Mr. Shinra. Something tells me that a lot of people are going to get hurt if I don't find out soon.

"Morning, Jessie." Tifa arranges the morning tonic, gin, and rum for the patrons scheduled to arrive in less than fifteen minutes. You can almost set your clock by them.

"Morning." I casually tie my hair up in a half-hearted attempt at a ponytail with its usual piece of tattered cloth. It's far too early for this.

"Barret wanted me to tell you that the ID cards worked perfectly. No one questioned us at all."

At least something worked right for a change.

"That's great. Now we can move right alongside Shinra without anyone knowing exactly who we are. I was hoping they would work without any problems."

She hands me a cup of hot tea, something I was not expecting. Hell. I haven't had tea since my Shinra days. Usually mornings like this one end up with me drinking my usual glass of water or if I'm desperate, the world famous Seventh Heaven coffee that can peel the paint off of walls. But tea? This is something new.

"Barret felt bad about how the materia lessons went the other day and for the boys' behavior regarding those spiders. He didn't think you to be much of a drinker so he settled for tea. His way of saying sorry."

How thoughtful of him.

"I'll tell him thank you when I see him," I take a sip of the tea. Not half bad. "By the way, is he around here today?"

"No. He's meeting with one of our people from the upper plates now that he can get to them."

Upper plates? There are more of them on the upper plates?

"Are they-" How do I ask this without sounding rude.

Tifa shakes her head with a smile. "They're only information providers. Most of them cut and ran when the Turks wiped out most of the old AVALANCHE and Barret took charge. Those who did decide to continue offering up valuable information are only in it because there's little else to do. They want nothing to do with what we do, and Barret prefers it that way. He's impressed with your work especially. It saves us a lot of time and has kept us out of a few close calls that could have been disastrous."

Information…They were looking for information.

"Would any of these guys happen to have been in contact with Don Corneo by any chance recently?"

For a moment, she seems to ponder the idea, as though it's something she had not considered before. She flips the 'closed' sign to 'open' and flicks on the main lights, bathing the area in vicious light.

"I'm not really sure. Barret would be the one to ask about who these people are."

I'll have to ask him when I get the chance.

The tiny bell stationed atop the door rings as the first of the patrons file in for their morning alcohol fix, preventing me from mentioning anything about what I saw yesterday in Sector Six.

Speaking of Sector Six…

I rest the chipped ceramic mug against the bar counter and unfold the list of items Biggs and I were supposed to obtain. The only things we didn't get were antidotes and ethers. Looks like that's what I'm doing this morning.

"Anything else you need while I'm out?" I ask, checking off the items already sorted and put away with my dying pen.

"Actually, we need some more bandages. Cloud's wounds are healing better and we're running low."

Bandages. I scrawl that at the bottom of the list. Pending no further Shinra escapades in Wall Market, this should be an easy assignment. I throw my rucksack over my shoulder and grab my shuriken, heading out to finish yesterday's work.

A misting layer of frost coats the ground in a fine film, as though it couldn't quite figure out if it was cold enough to even exist or not. I'm glad I'm not patrolling Sector Eight today. At least the slums are mildly insulated by the plate above, albeit not by much. It's still kinda chilly out here.

Chilly, but oddly pleasant to look at. The mako light makes the sparkling frost seem less sinister and almost magical in a way. I just can't believe that I'm saying this about the slums of all places. A place that roughly a month ago, I would have wrinkled my nose at even considering being beautiful. Guess this is Fate's way of bringing me down a few pegs.

Not that I can complain. Some people don't have anything down here. Such a settlement of people is currently stirring from beneath the sheets of rusted metal now serving as roofs by the archway between sectors.

A band of emaciated children scramble through the frost lined streets in desperate search of food and materials, their leader a hard nosed little boy carrying a sharpened metal pole to fend off any monsters lurking amidst the rubble. They pay me no heed as I walk past. I'm one of the regulars down here now. I belong here.

Heh, I'm probably the only one who actually _wants _to be down here.

Despite the early hour, Wall Market is alive and well with the usual leeches out for their morning hunt. I limp past the local 'pharmacy' in search of bandages and antidotes. Place sure looks a lot different than it did yesterday.

"Hey lady!"

A gruff voice to my left. I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders and clutch my shuriken defensively.

"You're the one who collects cursed weapons right?"

Great, it's that weapons guy, Butch something or rather. I hesitate, holding the rucksack protectively to the side to prevent it from being stolen. He motions me closer to his table, a weary, yet sinister look about him. Must be the dull morning light and greasy complexion.

"What." A warning. Not a question. I do not want to be stuck dealing with this guy today. I've already gotten my weapon back. I don't need any others.

"Have I got a weapon for you."

"Not interested this morning," I turn my back to him and begin walking. I don't have the time for this kind of thing.

"You sure? I got a really cursed one here I was hoping you could tell me something about." Really cursed? Yeah right, probably just some -

Rekka lands by my foot with a sharp thud, my hand trembling as I clutch the ties of my cloak, heart thundering. That…that's not possible. The brisk autumn chill rakes through my cloak, as though the fabric does not even exist. It's as though I've plunged into the frigid Modeoheim lakes.

It's metallic surface, marred with soot, rust, and…and blood. Stained by blood. Every marking. Every etching. So much blood.

Trembling, I back away.

"Lady?"

"No-" the word catches in my throat, that eerie feeling descending upon my once again. "This isn't possible. It's not possible!"

I need to get out of here. I need to get back to Seventh Heaven. The heel of my foot catches against the side of my shuriken, forcing me to face the sinister demon weapon lying across the table, stained with blood across its broad, obsidian and steel blade.

The Buster Sword…


	30. Patrons

**Finally got in at least one update this week. The Muse has been kinda feeling under the weather the last couple of days, but never fear! That means more updates for you guys later this week when I'm feeling better. Promise! The next chapter should be more fun with Cloud. :)**

**Chapter Thirty - Patrons**

Vultures. That's all that whomever brought this here are. A bunch of evil, conniving vultures with clipped wings and venomous talons.

Against the frost-laden morning air, the blade almost shimmers, as though the spirits of those who wielded this cursed weapon now reside deep within the lethal steel.

My fingers trace the frigid surface in a wide arc, the intricate rippling grooves crusty with dried blood, the blade itself chipped from endless barrages of bullets and shrapnel. A fine brushing of rust mars the once pristine, honorable weapon, a testament to what occurred out upon that ridge in the wastelands.

Zack loved this sword. Every swing. Every thrust. Every parry with the invisible enemy. The polished, elegant, leather-wrapped wooden hilt sat naturally in his calloused hands, as though the sword itself had chosen Zack to wield it in its owner's stead.

He spent nearly every free moment he could caring for Angeal's blade. Hours of tediously rubbing the soft cheesecloth dipped in polishing oils across the oceanic surface of lethal gray steel. Hours of swinging it without striking anything, to familiarize himself with the role of being Angeal's living legacy. Hours of tears for the fallen hero it belonged to.

Up until now, I've never actually seen this thing up close like this. All I really remember about it, is Zack chiding Angeal about having a sword but never using it lest it be led down the path of rust and ruin. A sword fit for a SOLDIER. A simple weapon, bulky, hideously ugly, but beautiful and mystical in its own right - now a salvage collector's bountiful harvest for a few gil.

It makes me sick thinking about it.

He could have killed me that night. One flick of his wrist, and this frigid steel would have cut fast and hard, leaving my body lying on the rocky shore of the Nibel Plains for my comrades to search for. They probably wouldn't have even found me if the tide had washed in either. He could have killed me, and yet, he didn't, even though I added one more chip to this sword with Rekka. He let me go - and I returned the favor.

Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

"Something on your mind lass?" I glance up at Butch, who seems interested in what I know about this weapon.

"This sword-" I draw my fingers away from its surface. "Carries with it more than its fair share of phantoms and curses."

He raises an eyebrow, strangely interested in the history behind it. "Like your shuri-thing?"

"No," I answer, a bit disheartened by the dull shimmer of the blade's surface. Angeal would have a fit over the state of his sword if he saw this. "The phantoms that haunt this blade were once heroes. Each one succumbed to their enemies in needless bloodshed, dying well before their time. There is more lost honor on this blade alone than in all of Midgar."

"You mind taking it off my hands then? Business was pretty good after that demon weapon you convinced me to sell was gone. This blade seems to send more people away than it does bring."

I retrieve Rekka from its spot by my feet and turn away from the Buster Sword. The temperature seems to have plunged, my breath lingering upon the air.

Forgive me Zack.

"No." The crunch of frozen gravel and dirt pierces the morning air beneath my boots. "That sword belongs in the hands of a hero. That is something I am not."

Back at Seventh Heaven a half of an hour later, I try my hardest to push the thoughts of the Buster Sword to the back of my mind. My comrades wouldn't understand anyway. They _can't _understand. And I don't feel like explaining it to them.

Why does it feel like I'm being watched from the shadows all of a sudden? I draw my cloak over my shoulders despite the usually stifling heat of the first floor's steam pipes and make my way through the drunken morning crowd to the table closest to them. Must have been a lot colder than it originally felt like out there.

The rucksack lands with a gentle thud against the rough wooden table, the tedious process of sorting everything out taking priority over my thoughts. At least while doing this, I don't have to think about how it all ended out on that ridge. Whether or not he died quickly, or suffered.

A chill races along my spine, making me reach for Rekka out of habit. Someone's behind me, dangerously close, and it is not one of my comrades.

"Hi there sweet pea-"

Rekka is at his throat before he can completely sit down beside me, his greenish eyes wide in surprise. For a few seconds, I merely glare, moving the rucksack to the side with one hand and keeping him at bay with my weapon with the other. I am not in the mood for this today.

"Whoa," he scoots back a few inches, holding his hands up to show he is not armed. "Jumpy today aren't we?"

"Go away," I warn. Looks like I'm going to be finding another table after all. My eyes scan the area for a safe route of escape. He casually brushes the shuriken aside, proceeding to sit down beside me anyway despite the warning. Brains we have not…

"Aw, but can't a good looking guy buy a pretty girl a drink?" he smiles, a false drawl to his tone, and drapes an arm against the table, his metallic bracers catching the dull light. The scent of leather from his loose, short sleeve jacket permeates the air, his white t-shirt covered in a light dusting of metallic dust and rust. The infamous mop of spiked crimson hair adds to the hopeful longing in his green eyes.

Not exactly what I would call 'good' looking, but he's on the right track. Compared to the other creatures lurking around here, I'd say he stands a good chance with that special woman of his dreams -

Which I do not intend to be.

"I don't drink," I simply reply, hoping this Reno Romeo wannabe will take the hint and let me alone to finish sorting these items.

"Take you for a ride on my bike then?" Ugh. Why don't guys just take the hint and leave. What part of 'I am not interested' does this guy not understand? Apparently all of it.

"I don't even _know _you." I've seen him lurking around with the regulars, sure, but as far as who in the hell he is, I have no idea.

For a moment, this actually seems to dawn on him.

He smiles, tapping his fingers against the table's gritty surface. "Name's Johnny. I live in the house right down the street."

Fantastic. A neighbor…

"Got some big plans for the future you know," He's got this far away look in his eyes. "Gonna get out of this joint and start a new life somewhere away from Midgar."

Who doesn't want to get out of Midgar these days? I politely smile and rearrange the antidotes as he practically gives me his entire life story. Sounds interesting, if not a little far-fetched. Not that I'm paying much attention to him. I'm just glad his incessant chatter is distracting me from that damn cursed weapon and Zack.

Damn memories. Always getting in the way of everything.

"Jessie, I have another job for you," a sharp tone, more like a commandment from the bar.

What else is new? At least she might be able to get me away from this guy's life story for ten minutes, a fact I am most appreciative of.

"What do you need, Tifa?" I politely excuse myself from Johnny's presence and make my way over to the bar, setting the rucksack against the countertop.

"Could you take Cloud some breakfast? I've got patrons to wait on."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a brief smirk directed at the young man with high, if not impossible hopes. Ah, so that's why I have a sudden 'job.' Patrons. _Right_.

With a sigh, I accept the plate of toast and head for the second floor. Might as well get this over with before I end up in yet another 'danger' zone I didn't know I had stumbled into.


	31. That Which Remains Locked Away

**Chapter Thirty One - That Which Remains Locked Away**

I've always wondered what wintertime in the slums was like. Call me crazy for thinking about such a thing, but ever since I was a little girl, I've often wondered if it snowed here in the slums or not. If it was any colder down here than up there, on the plate above, and if maybe the mako reactors being scattered about in a circle with pipes below the normal cities might have had any impact on anything or not.

Tseng never did give me a straight answer on that one. Probably because he either didn't know or just didn't feel like talking about it. It's funny in a way. The great, tough leader of the Turks, absolutely despising winter and pulling practically every string he can just to send someone else on any mission that comes within three hundred miles of anything below 70 degrees. He hasn't gone out in the snow since the Modeoheim incident.

I, on the other hand, enjoy the wintertime chill to the air. Probably the only Turk who does. Not that any of that matters anymore. The answer to my questions can be answered on my own, from the opposite side of the fence. Never thought I'd be seeing things from this perspective.

Guess there's a lot of stuff Shinra doesn't understand.

The hallway is imposingly dark for such an early hour. Marlene is still sleeping in the room at the opposite end of the hall, oblivious to the lingering chill creeping through the cracks in the boards and across the rough wooden floor. I gently tap upon the familiar doorframe, receiving a silent reply.

Wait. I hear the faint rustle of sheets.

"Cloud," I peer through the door into the darkened room. "Tifa sent breakfast for-"

What on Gaia is going on here?

He's sitting ramrod straight, back against the mattress, blankets strewn about as though he tried to escape from something in a hurry. His hands are trembling, unfocused eyes locked upon the partially opened window and mouth hanging open as though he had been conversing with someone.

Gods its cold in here.

I set the tray upon the nightstand, pulse quickening at the very thought. He's gonna get chilled sitting like that. Who in the hell opened this window?

"Cloud," I rest a hand against his shoulder, trying to gain his attention. Instead of responding, he continues to stare, captivated by something in the window.

No. Please don't slip back into the Mako Poisoning's clutches. Stay here Cloud!

"Cloud!" I gently shake his shoulders. Same response.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. You can't go back to being that way. You were doing so good! So damn good!

My gaze catches the window frantically. Okay. Okay. Calm down. You'll handle this like you always do. He's going to be okay. It's not that cold out. Just get up, shut the window, and help him get back into bed.

I can do this. He's going to be okay.

The window clicks shut, leaving a faint residue of frost along the windowsill beyond and the foggy look about it. I turn a frantic gaze toward him, watching those mako eyes continue to stare, no sense of life in them.

"Cloud-" Why did this have to happen? First Zack's cursed sword, and now Cloud's gone back into 'Zombie' mode. Tifa's too enthralled with that dude with the impossible dreams, and I'm left to pick up the pieces yet again. "Come on. You gotta help me out here."

My arms tremble as I try to get him into somewhat of a standing position. He leans heavily against me, a light quiver crossing his muscles beneath Barret's oversized t-shirt. Please Cloud, still be in there somewhere. I can't pick you up and carry you myself.

For a moment I consider shouting for Tifa.

No. That little voice at the back of my mind growls. You were a Turk damn it. You've literally handled worse problems than this.

Cloud emits a low groan and shifts his weight, draping a hand against the mattress and blinking a few times, as though the very thought is confusing. Still, it's movement of some sort. He's not a complete zombie yet.

Thank Holy for small miracles.

I gently assist him in regaining his place upon the mattress, watching as he huddles back into his normal spot, a little more awake and aware of his surroundings. With a trembling hand, he reaches for the blankets strewn about, the window forgotten.

"You gave me a scare for a moment, Cloud," I retrieve one of the thicker blankets from the floor and give the fabric a good shake. Thank Holy. Oh thank Holy he hasn't wandered too far away.

"I-I had that dream again," he whispers, watching the tray of toast as though it is some sort of foreign matter. "I-I didn't mean to scare you."

Must have been some dream. I drape the blanket over his body and take my usual seat beside the bed. He continues to worry the fringe of the blanket with trembling fingers.

"It's okay. I just wasn't expecting to see you out of bed this early-"

He reaches for a piece of toast and turns it over in front of his eyes, studying every inch of the piece of charred bread. Does he do this with everything Tifa brings him?

"What is this?" his brow furrows in concentration. "It looks like it was in a fire."

Okay, so Tifa kinda left it in the toaster a bit longer than normal. It's still edible, and she was nice enough to put some sort of jam on it.

"Toast," I smile. "It's Tifa's idea of the perfect breakfast."

"Oh," he sniffs the piece of bread and attempts to nibble the corner of it, scrunching his nose up in disgust. "Not as bad as pancakes at least. You could play frisbee with those things."

Ah yes, the infamous Shinra pancakes. Reno and Rude did actually manage to get a game started that one morning. It was interesting to watch too, until Lazard and Tseng got involved.

"Who did you say you were again?" He's looking at me strange, as though trying to remember all that he can from our encounters.

"Jessie. My name's Jessie."

He reaches a hand out and gently traces the small, lingering scar beneath my eye where a piece of glass had slashed the flesh during the crash.

"Were you able to find her? Is she okay?"

That chill of being watched settles from the corner. Oh Zack, forgive me.

"No."

"I-I had that dream again. It was dark, and a little chilly," he averts his eyes, once again studying the piece of toast in his trembling hand. "Zack. Zack said we were going to be okay. That we would move in the morning. Then he - he heard someone in the bushes. And his sword. Such a big sword. She was not supposed to be there."

I draw my cloak around my shoulders at the chill. He is regaining his memory. Parts of it anyway.

"They killed her, didn't they?" The words are whispered, as though the very question was forbidden territory. "They killed her for what she did for us. They found out. Just like Zack said they would."

A light tremble catches his hand, his eyes shut and shoulders trembling.

Oh Cloud…If only I could tell you the truth. If only I could explain these complicated circumstances.

A part of my soul crumbles at the lie I am living. It's not fair! I'm not allowed to tell him that I'm right here. That I survived. That I am me.

"Why'd they kill her, Jessie? Why?" he grasps my shoulder, staring into my eyes with the faint residue of tears clouding his. "Why didn't I go back to her when I had the chance? Why couldn't I tell her about Zack?"

The fear in his voice rattles my soul. It's as though he's a little child, inquisitive and afraid. And I can do nothing but listen as he bares his soul to me about someone he regrets not finding sooner. Someone he never even knew.

My spine stiffens in alarm as his arms encircle me, drawing me closer. A damp liquid strikes my wrist.

He's crying…Tears soak my shoulder as he trembles, sobs heaving from his throat.

I'm so sorry Cloud. I'm sorry I did this to you. Please understand. I couldn't tell you anything. I did it to protect you.

I did it to protect you from them. Please understand. A stinging sensation behind my own eyes threatens to materialize as he continues to tremble. For a moment, I let him cry, his trembling arms around my shoulders and face buried into my shoulder.

"Hey, it'll be all right," I reassure him. "She's out there somewhere. I just know it."

Turks don't die easily, Cloud. We're like cockroaches. Annoying and capable of surviving anything. 'Cissnei' is no exception.

"But she was-"

"She's alive, Cloud," my voice holds a sense of truth behind it. "I guarantee that. She's tough, like the rest of the Turks. We'll find her. And when we do. We'll tell her about Zack. About you."

I hesitantly move away from his embrace, the concept of even being touched foreign. I don't like that feeling of being restrained by someone wrapping their arms around me. It's just too strange. He wipes the back of his hand across his tear drenched cheek, looking at me with those cloudy mako eyes.

"You think so?"

No, I'm not exactly sure how this will work out if it should ever come to pass. But right now, I don't feel like disappointing you anymore than you already have been Cloud.

"Zack would never give up on something he was searching for," I assure him. There is solid true behind these words. Zack never even thought about failure when he was dying out there in the rain. He wanted to come back to Midgar, and, in a way, he has. I'm looking at his legacy right in front of me. "To give up hope, Cloud, is to admit defeat. And heroes never give up."

Silence graces the room for a long few seconds, the words soaking into his mind.

"Heroes. Zack wanted to be a hero. Like Sephiroth and Angeal," a crestfallen look crosses his face as he toys with another piece of cold toast. "Why can't you be a hero when you're alive? Why must you die to be one?"

Why _must _one die to become a hero? The question nips at my soul with the ruthless knives of guilt and raw frustration. Shinra never wanted heroes to begin with. They wanted monsters disguised as heroes.

The truth hurts worse than any blade can. SOLDIER, the Turks, even the everyday infantryman. They are all monsters masquerading as false necessary 'heroes' in the public's eyes. Every one of us, a monster of Shinra, trained to murder and be respected, if not feared.

When Zack took that bullet to the heart, the last of the true heroes died with him. Every. Last. One. It's not fair. It doesn't make any sense. Yet, it is the truth.

"Jessie?"

"Yes, Cloud?" My voice feels a little foreign as I try to lock away the anger towards the mega corporation that murdered my friend, and then me, to cover up their evil deeds.

"Do you think," he whispers, "That when I'm feeling better, you can take me back to where Zack died?"

The chill air matches the frosted window, wrapping around my shoulders, cutting through my cloak as my soul shatters with the request.

Go back…

I grasp his hand with a tear creeping down the side of my face.

"Flowers," I whisper, trying in vain not to allow myself to cry. "We'll take flowers to his grave. And it will be sunny when we go."

Cloud smiles, leaning against the pillows propping him up, and closes his eyes contently. "Just how he liked everything to be. Can they be daffodils? You know, those funny looking yellow and orange ones that look like little bells sometimes?"

The kind Aerith grows. The only kind that thrives in a place like Midgar. Yes, Zack, we'll visit Aerith and get some flowers for you. There are no finer flowers than those of Sector Five's Chapel.

"He'll have the finest daffodils in the world. Flowers worthy of a hero."

The wounded infantryman's smile softens as the threat of sleep threats to overtake him. "And we'll take her with us. He'd want her to visit him too."

The tears continue to sneak past their barricade, my hand quivering at the agony ripping through my heart. I want to go this time, Zack. I want to pay my respects properly. I promise I won't be a coward and walk away. I-I'll put flowers on your grave, some sort of marker. So that others can see where you fell in battle. So they can remember what you did for us.

"She would like that a lot."

He nods in his partial sleeping state. "You'll remind me if I forget, Jessie? I sometimes forget things I don't want to forget. But, you won't let me forget, right?"

No, I won't let you forget. I promise that. We must never forget.

"I'll remind you. I promise."

I wipe the scalding tears from my eyes with the dirty sleeve of my shirt, trying to compose myself before I have to head back downstairs. I don't want to have to explain why I am crying to Tifa.

No one in AVALANCHE can see me cry.


	32. Gun Shy

**This is one of those chapters I just felt like writing for the heck of it, and because it wrote quick (well for me anyway). For the record, I'm using Irish Setter dogs in a figurative way. No offence meant to anyone (although I'm not sure how I would be offending anyone.) Just thought I'd throw that out there to cover my rear. (In other words, I do not want to hear any debate or opinions about dog breeds if you do choose to review, alright?) Good. Now that I've clarified that needless little point and we can all peacefully enjoy the story debate free, here is that chapter I made ya'll wait so long for. I'll be getting this story moving at a quicker pace as I'm actually setting time aside to work on it. Enjoy. :)**

**Chapter Thirty Two - Gun Shy**

I think I've regressed back to being an Irish Setter.

Not literally of course, but if Shinra's lapdogs had pedigrees, I believe that would be the breed of four legged servant that would best suit me. After all, it's been either "Jessie, go get that.", "Jessie, bring that here.", "Jessie, check on that.", "Jessie, stay here and keep an eye on Marlene and Denzel while I'm out" for most of the morning. No. Scratch that. It's been like this ever since that man with the fire crimson hair and the leather jacket walked in this morning.

I wipe a cloth across the surface of the bar and cast yet another watchful gaze at the two children playing quietly at the closest table with a pack of cards. In all honesty, I do not give a damn what Tifa does both for AVALANCHE or on her spare time with that creature named Johnny. It's none of my business, nor do I care to know.

What does bother me though, is my sudden regression back to lapdog status. It's too much how things used to be and not enough how they are.

As a lapdog, I was a meticulously trained killing machine. They raised me, fed me, sheltered me on lies, grooming me into the epitome of what Shinra really is - a corporation that crushes its opposition. That's all we were to Shinra, a pack of exceptionally trained dogs who, at the very command, would run down our prey until it was either dead or in shackles. Collared by ID cards. Chained by midnight blue suits and ties. No one escaped from the Turks.

We were expected to obey every order to the letter. If we made a mistake, or more commonly outlived our usefulness, we were simply 'put down', as Shinra does not need dogs who will not obey. There are no second chances for a Shinra lapdog.

AVALANCHE's pack, however, is a little lax on the training. A group of mutts whose mere existence is there to taunt and annoy the Shinra lapdogs. A pack I'm a part of whether I want to be or not.

Gods Seventh Heaven is empty during the afternoon hours. Barret's off meeting with his contacts on the upper plates. Tifa's with that Johnny guy. Wedge is thoroughly engrossed in the Shinra Times crossword puzzle from this morning. And Biggs, he's just sitting there, cleaning that .45 of his.

A small pile of springs and metallic pieces rests by his elbow, his skilled hands wiping every piece down with the small piece of cheesecloth he keeps for such a purpose. His dark eyes take in every mechanical movement, so not to miss one precious speck of dirt. He's been doing this a long time from the looks of it.

"You know Jessie," he snaps another piece apart and begins cleaning it. "You really outta learn how to use one of these things. Just in case you find your ass in the kinda trouble that your shuriken can't get you out of."

"Language Biggs," I warn. "There are children present."

He drags the chair closer to the bar, depositing the pieces across the recently cleaned surface. Typical male. Always making everything dirty.

"Aw, Uncle Biggs said a bad word!" Marlene chides from her and Denzel's chocobo ranch built out of cards.

"And he's not going to use that word again. Right?" I cast him a warning glare. That's all I need is for the children to start repeating his fowl language in front of Tifa. Some watchdog I am.

"Yeah," he smiles. "Uncle Biggs promises not to say another bad word again. Otherwise Aunt Tifa might get angry and feed me to the monsters outside at night."

Marlene freezes in terror.

"I thought Aunt Jessie got rid of all of the monsters!" Biggs, to his credit, seems to realize that he's treaded into dangerous territory.

"And she did. These are special monsters though," he scratches his chin, smearing grease across it by accident. "A-ah the kind that-"

Wedge looks up from his paper with a smile.

"The kind that only eats people who say bad words," he rescues his floundering friend. "Like Uncle Biggs over there. They won't come after little kids as long as you don't repeat what the grownups say."

Marlene and Denzel seem comforted by the thought of there being no monsters out there to eat them and turn back to their chocobo ranch. Gosh being around children makes things different at times.

"So why don't you invest in one of these things and learn to use it?" He gestures to the pile of parts with that impish look in his eyes. "I could teach ya how."

I continue straightening the liquor bottles, my back to him so he cannot read my expression. "Don't want one."

The term used within the ranks of the Turks for someone like me is gun shy. It's not that I can't or don't know how to use a firearm. I had better sniper marks than some of my comrades on the evaluation course. Like all Turks, I had a small, standard issued, automatic pistol for emergency use that I carried on my belt for my first couple of years. It sort of 'came with the package', as one would call it.

The feel of cold metal against my palm and the concept of just how much power that little weapon contained just never suited me. Even with the silencer, it was the noise that usually sent me scurrying for cover like some sort of frightened animal, even though I was the one behind the trigger at the time. It was a bad habit Tseng never was very successful in breaking me of no matter how many rounds were fired on the training course. I eventually ended up locking my pistol away in my safety deposit box in favor of Rekka.

Fortunately, being gun shy in the Turks is perfectly acceptable behavior, if not a little annoying for the superiors. Reno's gun shy. That I know for a fact. Rude, I'm not sure about. I've heard rumors of him using one in certain situations where it was needed, but never saw it for myself.

"You're an odd one," Biggs begins fitting parts of the .45 back together as I contend with trying to get the Shinra Network News in on this contraption called a television for the evening rush that should be arriving in an hour. Thank Holy we didn't have stuff like this at Headquarters. Nothing ever would have gotten done.

Biggs continues reconstructing his weapon, occasionally watching my frustrated efforts with the dials on this thing. It's sad. I can hack into the worlds most secure databases on the planet without detection, repair a broken piece of machinery without a manual, and used to spend my time working on high level security programming for A-level and above missions.

But I cannot seem to convince the only channel in existence down here to show up as something even remotely viewable.

"When we first met, I almost shot you, and you didn't seem to have a problem with guns. Barret did actually shoot at you and you barely flinched. One would think that you-"

The dial edges to the left, the image slowly coming into view. Almost got this thing in enough for those drunkards to remain entertained for most of the afternoon. "Guns aren't my thing. Too noisy."

Looks like they'll have to settle for half of a picture. That's fine. They'll all be drunk anyway.

The little bell jingles atop the door with the stir of cold air swirling across the wooden floor. They're early today. Biggs finishes assembling his weapon in silence, tucking it back into its holster and pretending to blend into the atmosphere as though he's been drinking for most of the afternoon. Wedge continues to work out the crossword puzzle, the children gathering the remnants of Fort Chocobo and marching dutifully to the pantry to resume playing out of the way.

Ah yes, the afternoon, early evening crowd has arrived. Let's see if I remember anything that Tifa taught me about bartending. Thankfully, Wedge and Biggs have my back on this one, but still, this has to be the strangest mission I've ever had.

"Hey lady," a droopy eyed man with a woman in a slinky silver dress pulls up a barstool. "Something dry for the lady and something hard on the rocks for me. And if you could add a 'little something' to it, there'll be extra in it for you."

I hate my new job. At least as a Shinra lapdog I was not expected to remember the recipes for a slew of drinks I've never heard of. This is more up Reno and Rude's alley. Two parts gin, one part tonic, four parts this and that. Ice. The ingredients blend like Tifa said they would, creating the concoctions these people ask for, each heavy drinker preferring his or her favorite tailored to their exact tastes.

How does she do this on a regular basis and stay sane? I look around the rapidly crowding bar, ignoring the drunken chatter spoken in the gibberish dialect of the slums - most of which is crude insults directed out some of the few classier woman drinking with their men today.

A fist strikes the surface of the corner table, a patron dressed in a baggy t-shirt with fingerprint-like nacho cheese stains across its front shouting obscenities to the other male across from him. His sandy brown hair plasters across his face in what appears to be drunken rage, cheeks flushed and arms waving at something his comrade said or did.

Wait. I set down a half full glass, leaning slightly forward for a better look. I've seen them before.

"Hey Biggs-"

Switchblades. A gun…

"What's up Jessie?"

They tried to kill me outside of Sector Six that day.

"Those men over there at the far table. Have you seen them around here before?"

His brow furrows as though trying to place them.

"Ain't they the ones who attacked you?" Wedge inquires. I nod. Yes, these are two of Corneo's boys alright. The one with the gun is not amongst them at the moment, but still - my fingers wrap snugly around the piece of materia in the leather pouch upon my belt. Extra 'insurance' as I like to call it should the situation require its use.

What are they doing in this bar? The shorter man with the sandy brown hair stands up, his eyes darting around the crowded floor, surveying what little space he has to work with. Something's wrong. Corneo's men should not be here at all.

I take an instinctive step towards the pantry door, locking it without taking my eyes off of these men. Who knows what they would do to two little children. Tifa said to keep an eye on them, and that's what I intend to do. I am, after all, a fine watchdog when the need arises.

My eyes narrow at the hostile steps of these men towards the bar.

This is my job.

"Biggs," I whisper, watching the patrons casually watch the happenings of the bar none the wiser. "That thing loaded by any chance?"

He flicks the safety off with one of his infamous smirks.

"It is now."

"Good."

Wedge folds his newspaper up and saunters away from his table, one hand resting on something in his back pocket. No doubt another firearm.

"You think they mean to cause some trouble?"

Oh, they mean to cause trouble alright. The smokey haze lingers across the hall like a curtain separating us from them, an invisible arena for which there is about to be a brawl of some sort any minute now. Biggs takes a step to intercept the sandy-haired menace, his partner lingering a few paces behind, ready to assist should the need arise.

Three of us against two of them. I'm happy with those odds.

"What does the Don want now?" Biggs asks, hostility in his tone that I haven't seen since the day I arrived here. The first of the men smirks.

"The usual. Fine looking fillies for the Boss's stable of sweethearts. How much for that pretty little redhead behind the bar?"

Biggs snickers and prepares to fire that gun of his, but I stop him with a light touch to the arm. It's too crowded to fire a weapon in here without hitting someone other than our target.

"Back off Scotch," Wedge warns, equally irritated by the presence of these two creatures of the shadows. "You know you won't find anything of interest here."

"Oh," the second man flips the switchblade open and closed as though bored. "I think we might have."

The light tingle in the air catches my attention, wrapping and snapping around the tiny particles and splitting with a barely audible hum.

"Biggs! Move!" The sleep spell washes over him before he can grasp the concept of what happened. The .45 falls from his limp hand against the bar, sliding to a rest beside a half full mug of ale. The first man tosses the piece of materia into the air and catches it, sending another round over anyone standing within range.

Wedge's eyelids droop as the spell takes hold, trying to aim his weapon at the pair with little success. Damn it. This is not good. The man identified as Scotch once again tosses the materia in the air and steps closer, that lecherous look in his demonic eyes. Looks like the Turks visiting the Don was just the beginning of whatever event is going on over there.

I watch the materia being tossed in the air, the beginnings of the spell being put together in whatever little brain resides in that guy's head. Okay. You want to play rough. I'll play rough.

"Well well well. Looks like the spider's caught something of interest in his web. The Don will be pleased with this." The swish of a switchblade reaches my ears, most of the drunkards fleeing in disorganized panic as if the place had caught fire. These two seem pretty proud of themselves for causing a stir. Well, they rattled the wrong cage today.

Tifa's gonna kill me when she gets back.

"Is that so?" The frigid tingle of Blizzaga creeps along my fingers. "Well, you see boys, I kinda have this thing about spiders-"

Scotch's partner yelps in surprise, the ground beneath him turning to an ice rink in an explosion of frost and ice. I lunge for the gun resting against the glass. I hate the feel of cold metal against flesh, but looks like I have no choice. With a click, I aim and pull the trigger.

The sleep materia shatters in his grasp, sending a shockwave of energy through his arm and knocking him into his partner. I aim again.

"I'll give you three seconds, two of which are already gone to get the hell outta here before I shoot both of you."

Cursing and swearing, both scramble in the ice to reach the door, bumping into what few patrons chose not to flee when they had the chance. Setting the gun back onto the bar counter I stalk towards the door in pursuit of the pair, passing a half awake Wedge and a recovering Biggs along the way. This isn't how I intended to spend my afternoon, but hey, Tifa did say to watch the kids while she was out. I assume protecting her property would also figure into those orders.

Yes. I watch the pair run with their tails between their legs from the open doorway, slipping and falling in the dirt as they round the corner and vanish into Sector Six's scrap heaps. If they come back here again, next time I'll bite even harder.

I am one of Shinra's pedigree watchdogs running with a pack of mutts. That does not mean I have forgotten how to do my job effectively.


	33. The Midnight Meeting

**Just one of those chapters that I felt compelled to write because I had some time. Nothing huge folks, but thought you'd enjoy it none the less. : ) There are more chapters headed your way soon!**

**Chapter Thirty Three - The Midnight Meeting**

It's one o'clock in the morning, and all we've managed to accomplish in the past hour is, well, you tell me. Judging by the four looks I'm getting from around the table, I must have finally gotten the concept of what it is we're going to be doing in the next two weeks into a language comprehendible enough for everyone to finally understand. I miss the days where I could just write it down, send it to who was supposed to get it, and let them handle it.

Biggs takes another drag of his cigarette and leans against the wall, dark eyes studying the piece of paper I've spread across the table and marked with little pieces of paper and pushpins to make my explanation easier to follow. Wedge merely nods, eyes wide with enthusiasm over the blueprints to Shinra Reactor Number One.

"You really think that will work Jessie?" Barret inquires, a hint of doubt edging into his tone. And, we're back to square one again. If I was not confident in this working, I wouldn't have brought this plan forward.

"It's a very plausible plan with room for error if need be," I point to the railways and locking security gates between the main support of the reactor and the various offshoot corridors used by security and repair personnel. "Our only major concern though will be the patrolling guards, which, in all honesty, should be easy enough to take out from the train platform. Once we get them out of the way, all we really gotta do is be quick and quiet, plant the bomb, allow enough reasonable time for an escape through the secondary emergency corridor here, and watch the fireworks from a safe distance. Shinra won't know what hit them."

Now even Tifa's staring at the blueprints, watching the trail I've neatly highlighted to prove my point. An easy path from station to target with minimal twists and turns.

"What about the security clearance codes?" Wedge asks.

"That's my job," I casually remind him. "I'll take care of the technical stuff. You guys get to plant the bomb and help me deal with the guards."

Barret scrutinizes my work once more with that piercing gaze of his, tapping a finger against the escape corridor.

"What about this part? Won't we get buried alive when that thing explodes? What about Mako Poisoning?"

There is, of course, great risk with any part of a mako reactor and its contents. Heck, we're talking about blowing one up here and believing it can be done in a safe, efficient manner. I'm not one hundred percent certain just what's going to happen when it does explode, or heck, if we'll even make it that far. Shinra's been known to hide some bugs in the system just to make things interesting. And with the Don and his men sniffing about- well, let's just say I'm not exactly pleased with the limited amount of time I've been given to work with.

Two weeks at best. If I play the right cards, maybe an extra three days added to that. Anything more and we risk being forced back into standard guerrilla warfare and unable to get another chance like this before the new security measures take effect.

Someone knows we're here. And if that someone is who I think it is, we've got some big problems waiting in the shadows for us. Problems I won't even be able to get us out of no matter how many computers I hack.

"There is a slight risk of exposure to mako with this sort of thing. However-" Better stop this before it becomes a phenomenal panic. "The amount will be minimal at best, as we are not exactly planting the bomb on the radioactive core itself, but rather on the electrical terminal that controls its main temperature draw switch."

"So, in other words we let the damn thing blow itself up?" my dark eyed comrade taps the edge of the cigarette against the ceramic tray to rid the ashes from the end. "Sounds fairly simple."

Barret leans back in his chair, crossing his gun arm across his chest and running the plans over in his mind. He's looking for discrepancies, anything I might have forgotten or omitted. I have to give him credit. He's one hell of a leader to be looking at a plan in that way and challenging my every word. A natural born leader, scary as that might sound.

Shinra's got something to fear after all. I can only hope his contacts are half as detail oriented as the man who commands AVALANCHE seated across from me is.

Tifa bites the corner of her lip, nervously fumbling with the left corner of the blueprints, folding it over and back repeatedly. "What about the surrounding sector? Won't they be caught in the blast - like last time something like this was attempted? A lot of people died that day."

A somber silence falls over the group and I glance once more at the pushpins detailing our positions for the bombing. This has to work. There just aren't any other choices available to really cripple Shinra. And to go storming Headquarters guns blazing is just plain suicidal if not stupid. Yet, I would not put that past some of these guys.

"The blast will be contained within the shell of the reactor." I drag a finger across the thicker lines depicting the walls. Thank Holy for Reeve keeping a copy of his map key in his personal files. "These bolder lines represent more than ten thousand tons of steel and mako neutralizing elements forged into five foot thick walls. Around the core, they are even thicker. Once that bomb takes out the control, the mako will burn hot and fast, vaporizing everything in its path."

The looks I'm getting right now are priceless. Tifa seems to have pulled her chair away from the table in swift retreat. Fear more than likely. Barret's got this blatantly amused, yet nervous look about him. Wedge is just kinda quivering if not cowering. And Biggs has actually put that offensive cancer stick out.

Was it something I said? Guess I probably should have rephrased that a little bit before I said it…

"No offense Jessie," Biggs raises an eyebrow. "But this plan sucks."

I run a hand through my tangled hair with a defeated sigh. No matter how many times I try to explain that we're going to be out of range of the blast, it just isn't getting through their thick skulls. Tifa's probably the only one who even remotely understands what I'm trying to explain - if that look upon her face really is her thinking about it and not plotting my death for turning her bar into a battlefield earlier tonight.

"Look," I begin trying to repair the damage I've managed to single-handedly cause in the past few minutes. "We are not going to be vaporized. I might be a little psychotic at times, but I'm not that far off the rocker. The way this works is that when the bomb detonates, it creates a vacuum effect that basically pulls the reactor inwards, creating a very effective heat shield to contain the molten mako being burned beyond it. With the mako reducing elements of the walls, Shinra will be unable to repair this reactor to even a fraction of the capacity it runs at now, leaving them one reactor down and buying some time. Any hazardous particles will be contained within the reactor, and the remaining sector should remain safe for the civilians."

Barret, much to his credit, resists the urge to shoot me over this.

"Well why the hell didn't ya say so to begin with?"

Probably because no one is actually paying attention to a word I say. It's late and we're all tired. There's a good chance none of us are going to remember this later this morning anyway.

"That does make sense," Wedge traces the bold lines and seems to be picturing how this might work in his head. "Whomever designed this was a mechanical genius, but forgot about the possibility of these walls collapsing to create a container. Either that or he did it intentionally for some odd reason. Probably a safety protocol. If he wanted it to stand up to a blast, or reactor meltdown, he should have placed bracers here and here, with a possible one here."

If Reeve heard this guy picking apart his life's work, he'd be furious. He'd probably even throw that protractor of his at him just to prove a point. Hmmm. I wonder what Wedge used to do for a living before joining AVALANCHE?

"You read blueprints?" I hesitate, uncertain if I have a right to even inquire about what he used to do for a living. The beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his lips and he proudly leans back in his chair, reminiscing about the past.

"Yeah. I designed Sector Five's chapel and supervised its construction. 'Course that was before mako became popular and the slums weren't the slums. Every town had a name and places like Wall Market were actually safe places to go for a nice night on the town. But things change, people get greedy, and now you wouldn't believe that this place was anything other than a hazardous waste dump crawling with fleas. Wonder how old Tuesti's doing nowadays and if he still carries that stupid protractor in his front pocket."

He was an engineer too. That explains a lot. And he apparently knew Reeve, or at least met him at some point during his career. Heh, guess it's a small world after all. Either way, Sector Five's chapel is an amazing display of engineering in its own right.

"You and your blueprints," Biggs pretends to be interested. "No one gives a damn anymore about how things used to be."

Wedge merely rolls his eyes with an annoyed look to his comrade.

"Says the man who carries a picture of his parents and supposed wife around in his wallet."

Tifa stifles a laugh while Barret pretends to be interested in the drawing. Still, you can see him smiling as Biggs gets all riled up about this. I have to say, he's the last person I would expect to carry a picture with him.

"I told ya that I needed to fill that empty space with something! And she's not my wife!"

"Well it could have at least been a hot chick-"

I step out of the path of these two, collecting my plans in case the table gets knocked over in the ensuing fight. Sometimes I wonder about these two.

"Alright boys. Calm it down." Tifa steps between them, effectively quelling whatever hostility was brewing. They'll be friends again tomorrow. I can assure you of that.

"So," Barret smirks. "Where we all gonna go after Shinra's defeated to celebrate?"

"Anywhere but Wutai or the Gold Saucer," Biggs quickly states making Tifa snicker.

"Afraid Ester will recognize you?"

"Aw not you too Tifa!" He runs and hides behind me, as though I'm going to defend him against the martial artist. "It was just a one night stand! I swear I never agreed to marriage!"

"We all know ya got a wedding band ya wear on a chain around your neck Biggs. Don't lie about it. Sooner or later that woman of yours is gonna find ya, and when she does, she ain't gonna be happy with what you've been doing all these years to avoid her. Trust me boy, when a woman swears revenge on ya, you better be quick running and prepared to die tired."

Famous words of wisdom from Barret of all people. Biggs's hands grasp my shoulders as he once again attempts to use me as a shield against his comrades. We aren't getting a darn thing done tonight.

"Women don't hold grudges that long. Right Jessie?"

I elbow him in the ribs to get him to release me. You're asking the wrong person for advice buddy. Considering that I was a Turk, if you had actually been successful in playing the dangerous, if not impossible game of courting and eventually marrying me, only to skip out on the bargain, I'd probably have to kill you. 'Til death do us part' holds a literal meaning to some of us.

"You do not want me to answer that," I look towards Tifa. "What'd you say her name was again?"

By now, Wedge is laughing aloud and Barret is trying hard to look serious as Biggs scurries halfway across the bar, taking cover behind a chair.

"That's just not fair! You're supposed to take my side!"

"No one takes your side because you're an idiot." Wedge's in on this now too. Oh boy. I'd be surprised if someone doesn't get horribly maimed tonight by a barstool.

Barret stands up, seizing command yet again.

"Ya'll still didn't tell me where ya wanted to go after this is over."

Biggs scowls and dodges behind another table.

"I said anywhere but where that woman might find me."

"Ah hell, that's anywhere where civilization is. Shit. Now we got Cosmo Canyon, Bone Village, and Fort Condor to choose from."

Tifa begins rounding up the boys and putting chairs up for the night. I offer my assistance.

"You boys wouldn't care if we went camping in a cave somewhere. As long as you could all get drunk you'd be happy with it."

"Damn straight."

What have I gotten into?

"Cosmo Canyon it is then. Besides, I've always wanted to see that fire of theirs. Heard it never goes out."

There is a unanimous agreement amongst us. It's strange. Of all the places I've been, not once did I ever set foot in Cosmo Canyon. My comrades have, to secure a research specimen for Hojo, but I just never got lucky enough to get assignments in that particular region of the world unless I was chasing Zack and Cloud. I've heard it has a beautiful sunset.

Twenty minutes later, the last of the chairs are up for the night. The mako fueled lights are dimmed to allow the shadows to bathe the area in darkness. The glasses are washed, the wash rags are drying on their racks. Everything is clean and swept. Seventh Heaven is officially closed for the evening after yet another successful disaster of a day.

I check the clock hanging upon the wall and click the television off, traipsing to the door and checking the lock once again to ensure it is secure for the night. I can't chance that Corneo's boys might make it a point to pay us a little 'visit' while we're all trying to get some sleep.

Tifa's waiting by the bar as I make my way to the basement to reclaim my little corner of the world and salvage what little sleep I intend on getting this morning. After putting up with the boys and if this is going to become a regular occurrence at important meetings, I'm going to need every minute of it.

"Jessie," she begins, using that tone of voice that usually involves something I did or am going to be asked to do. "I need to discuss something with you if you have time."


	34. A Matter of Disagreement

**Yes, yet another update this week! Enjoy a somewhat darker chapter this time folks. (I promise actual stuff is going to be happening here soon, just hang in there.) You can expect more updates this weekend. I'm a little behind schedule as usual.**

**Chapter Thirty Four - A Matter of Disagreement**

I have grappled with my fair share of arguments over the years. Some that have been long deserving of a direct confrontation. Some that were accidents that I just happened to have ended up in by no fault of my own, usually because of my comrades. And then there are the conflicts like the one I'm currently embroiled in at this very minute, in this very bar, seemingly by my very own choosing.

I probably should have walked away when I had the chance and left the alpha female of this group have her way. There would have been a lot less growling and snarling at one another, a lot less threatening gestures, and overall, a lack of a good conflict that had any of the males actually witnessed, would probably be talking about for weeks yet to come. Unfortunately, and I blame it on being the only female in the Turks for so long, I have a lot of learning to do about how this whole pack thing works and exactly how to admit defeat when I know I'm clearly not going to win.

That doesn't mean I won't go down swinging.

"No. Absolutely no way in Hades." I storm across the bar floor en route to my 'lair' as it is being referred to now by the boys. The padding of boots across wood continues to follow despite the less than subtle warnings I'm trying make her understand. When I do not want to talk, I do not want to discuss the matter any further than it already has been. End of story. And this discussion ended well before it began the moment she thought I would be a good choice to unburden her thoughts upon.

"Jesshera."

Shit, the full first name. Why does everyone who is pissed off at you have to use the full name? I stop, fingers drumming against the shuriken's frigid surface.

"You already know my thoughts on the issue Tifa. I would prefer to get back to finishing my work if you don't mind."

And the standard, polite, if not a little bit of an excuse not to quarrel any longer reply. My first major mistake in trying to avoid any more conflict before we start throwing punches next. I'm glad the boys aren't around right now to see this.

"Walking away is not an answer!"

It is when you've been a Turk for most of your life. In some conflicts, matters of indecision or disagreement being some of them, it is the _only _acceptable answer. I don't want to fight anymore. I want to just get back to my coding and go about my business as though the initial argument never took place.

"I gave you an answer already," I casually remind her, bitter at being reduced to limping away with my tail between my legs.

Tifa blocks my route of escape, looking every bit as pissed off at me as I imagined. Alright. You won. I lost. Now leave me the hell alone lady before I end up saying something I'll end up regretting later.

"Would you at least listen to a word I say?"

Stop treating me like some sort of animal expected to obey your every command and I might consider it. And for the record, I heard every word, even some that weren't supposed to have been said. I read body language better than most printed words.

"I have been listening. And I am telling you that you are making a huge mistake." I try to get past her, only to end up retreating a few steps and searching for another option.

"Why are you so paranoid over this? It's just a sword!"

Paranoid is an understatement. And no, it is not just a sword. That particular blade has killed every person who's ever owned it. It killed Angeal. It led to Zack's death. It sure as hell will probably lead to Cloud's too if he ends up inheriting that thing. And yet, I cannot say a damn thing to explain it to this woman. All I can do is stalk away, act paranoid about it as though that sword levitated off of the table to my left and caught on fire, and be as stubborn as I possibly can without looking like an ass.

"This whole thing is a bad idea in general." I once again attempt to admit defeat but that damn stubborn pride refuses to let me just walk away. Might as well try once again to talk this out before I make a flat out run for it and never look back.

The Buster Sword's surface catches the dull morning light, fracturing it against its angry black steel. It is as though it's glaring at me. The turbid scratches flare like angry wounds. This sword is out to haunt me.

Damn it Zack! I'm just trying to protect him. I don't want him to die like the heroes before him. You died a senseless death that I could not prevent. If being stubborn and sacrificing everything can prevent Cloud from following in your footsteps, then I am willing to stand my ground until I've nothing left to stand for. I'm done running damn it. I'm done with all that. I am not Cissnei anymore. I can't be her anymore.

This is my life now. And no ghost is going to continue to make my choices for me any longer. I don't care if some sword hates me for it, or if it feels colder than Modeoheim at times everywhere I walk, or even if it feels as though you're watching my back when I'm in trouble. This sword, is just a sword, as Tifa says. Cloud, however, is a wounded infantryman who is too frail to stand let alone fight the corporation that tortured him for four long years amongst our ranks.

I survey the open space of the bar, still furious with my ghosts. If you insist on haunting me then at least help me out here.

He's your legacy buddy. I'm just the guard dog. You seem so damn insistent in telling me what to do. What now?

For once, the chill radiating from this blade at my fingertips seems almost to understand that I am worried about what is going to happen. For several seconds, it lingers along my scarred fingertips despite the warmth cast by the steam pipes along the wall. Tifa's looking at me, her angry glare somewhat softened to a dull displeasure at having cornered me by the sword. I choose not to make eye contact, instead, watching the sword that caused this mess in silence.

"You're worried about him," she takes a seat across from the sword, studying it, as though the same thing I see is no longer a mystery to her. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I have as much right as anyone to worry."

For a moment, she continues to study both the blade and my hand as though the markings on both tell my story for me. I just want to get out of here and leave this whole thing behind, not entrench myself deeper into the conspiracy that I've stumbled into.

"You know something, don't you? About this sword. About Cloud?"

Holy, it's like sitting across from Tseng all over again. Only this time, I am not pleading my case on why I let them go that night. No, this is worse. Those piercing hazel eyes tearing into my very soul, knowing that something about my story does not match. What I say in response this time, might just be a plea for my life.

Why did I let her get to me like that? Why did I pick this confrontation to enter into? Because, I remind myself, I know the truth. Because, I am stubborn. Because, I cannot escape the past. Because this is my punishment.

The sting jolts me away from my tormented thoughts, forcing me to look down at the blade. There is a jagged mark where my fingers rest, the tiny trickle of blood creeping from beneath the freshly torn skin. A flick of silver still embedded in the blade with the faintest scrape of crimson brushing the edge in a simple arc. This was the mark I added to this blade. The only one I will ever remember out of all of the markings. This one belongs to me.

And it is my task to set things right. Zack chose to protect Cloud. It is now my job to protect his living legacy.

"I do not want Cloud fighting as a member of AVALANCHE."

There, I said it. The answer I've been dueling with for most of the morning ever since Tifa approached me about this sword serving as a suitable weapon for him. An honest response to a question I never wanted to encounter. She sighs, a bit surprised by the words.

"Why not? You know we can use a SOLDIER on our side. And Cloud's getting stronger by the day. Soon he'll be back to his normal self and-"

"Tifa. Listen to me. Cloud is not capable of thinking nor acting like a SOLDIER in his state. If anything, forcing him to join our ranks could be disastrous to his mako jostled mind. You've seen what he can do when he's lost in one of his hallucinations! What if that happened on the battlefield, with materia and this sword? One swing and whoever gets hit by it won't stand a chance of recovering."

That familiar chill is in the smoky air again, the far corner light flickering with the shorted wires in it distracting, if not haunting in its own way. I step away from the table, choosing to glance out the frosted window to the dirty slums beyond. Tifa makes her way from her chair to the vacant spot beside me, as though whatever I am looking at is something of great interest.

"He wouldn't hurt you," she softly replies, as though the words are hurtful in their own way. "If anything he would protect you with his life."

"Stop right there," I warn, resting a hand against the windowsill and watching a group of slum children scurry about in pursuit of a stray cat that must have wandered down from the upper plate in search of food. Lucky cat.

"He trusts you Jessie. You're the only one who seems to be able to make sense of anything he's talking about half the time. It's almost as though you and he have something in common, something special that no one else can understand."

For a moment, I choose to remain silent. All we have in common is a fallen hero. Up until now, Cloud and I have not spoken on terms that allow us to actually get to know one another for who we really are. He's looking for Cissnei, a Turk, and I can only be Jessie, a rebel terrorist trying to pick up the shattered remnants of my former life and move on. We have nothing in common.

"I understand because I listen. I listen because I have nothing to say. What goes on in Cloud's head, is strictly stuff he knows. All I know is what he tells me. That alone does not warrant trust."

Tifa turns to watch the silent image flash upon the television. Looks like the standard news brief that takes place every morning. The traffic report for Sector Seven's upper plate no doubt. A welcomed distraction at the moment.

"Will you at least consider giving him a chance?"

The question feels like more of a plea, as though Tifa does not want to leave Cloud out of the action we're going to be embroiled in soon. Still, the odds are not in favor of him recovering enough to actually benefit us.

"Tifa," I sigh, knowing that whatever I say is going to be shot down or challenged. Yes, we will need manpower to handle Shinra. Yes, a SOLDIER would be a phenomenal addition to the group, considering what we have to work with now against what we will encounter. And yes, we could actually win this war with the right people. But Cloud is not a SOLDIER. He never was. He's just a mako poisoned infantryman who just happened to be wearing a SOLDIER First Class uniform when we found him.

How do you reveal something like that without putting your own identity at risk?

"This is not my choice to make-" The Buster Sword leers from its spot upon the table, its ghostly markings creating a sort of ripple effect once again across the blade. Sometimes I wonder about my sanity. "Barret is the one who gets to decide just who stays and who goes. Nothing I say will change any of that."

I am, after all, just another terrorist. Clutching Rekka tighter and cautiously making my way back towards the pinball machine to my lair, I catch a glimpse of Tifa's eyes. She's thinking about something, and for once, some of my words might have actually sunk in. Those are the eyes of a worrier.

"Jessie-"

I stop, one hand upon the little flipper thingy that activates this elevator lift.

"What?"

"Think about this, please. He has nowhere else to go when he recovers, unless he goes back to Shinra-"

"Shinra will kill him," I respond, a little less than enthused about that option. It's bad enough they murdered Zack. Cloud wouldn't stand three seconds against an army of that size and caliber. Tifa's still looking at me, as though trying to figure out what I'm thinking, or more so searching for a weakness.

"Like your friend?"

Now that was just a cruel stab and twist of the knife in the wound. I didn't even think she would sink low enough to use that against me. I return the words with an indignant glare.

"Leave him out of this." Another warning, this time a little more stern. I do not want to make you my enemy, but if I must, it will be.

"This time will be different though! Cloud won't die that easily. He's stronger than that."

Just walk away, I try to repress the urge to lash out at the words. Just walk away. She doesn't know what happened out there. She's just trying to build a case for Cloud, however painful that may be. Walk away and don't look back.

"Stronger than a SOLDIER first class?" I challenge, my back to her. "I have to disagree with that."


	35. Treason Has A Name Now

**Hey folks! Sorry about the long wait for this update. Things have been kinda sorta busy around here yet again, and any and all scheduled time I made for any of my fics has virtually been eaten by real life events. But, I did manage to get this longer update in for ya'll despite circumstances. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Thirty Five – Treason Has A Name Now**

Had anyone told me that I would be doing this sort of thing on my own freewill back when I was a Turk, I would have called them insane. But, as I look over the supplies I have meticulously gathered from the various shops and scrap yards of both Sector Seven and Wall Market, the reality of the situation finally sinks in. Various malleable plastics shanghaied from discarded shipping containers, metal strippings from wrecked vehicles of varying age, mako powder, bomb fragments, computer chips, wires, connectors, and the almighty screwdriver to put this puzzle together with.

The tools of a person about to commit the biggest crime against Shinra summed up into one word - treason. The moment I assemble this creation, there will be no turning back, no second chances, no feeling for whomever gets hurt along the way.

Being a former Turk has some advantages.

I adjust the light I have rigged above the crates turned worktable, wishing I had my spectacles at least. It's not that my eyes are poor, but the finer details often look a lot clearer when assisted by those thin lenses. With this dull light, they would be a godsend. But hey, I have to work with what I am given, and this is it. Barret's orders were more than clear - build the bomb that will make this mission work. That is exactly what I intend to do.

They've been yelling for the past fifteen minutes, the sound of angry feet being stomped against the floorboards rattling an alarming amount of dust over my drawings. I draw my cloak protectively over my shoulders in attempt to focus once more. One of these days that floor's gonna come collapsing down, and if I'm down here when it does, someone's not going to be a happy camper.

Marlene peers over my shoulder with the enthusiasm of a little weasel watching the most fascinating thing on the planet. I cast a somewhat caring glance in response, tracing the slightly altered instructions with my fingers and gathering several small pieces in my palm, setting them aside. A five year old witnessing what could be the most infamous crime in Shinra's legacy. I'm not sure whether I should feel honored of disgusted.

You are a Turk right now. Those harsh words from deep within my mind force me to reach for the second round of ingredients necessary for this weapon. I cannot be thinking about anything but the target I am to assassinate. No warm and fuzzy musings about a five year old child witnessing a crime. No second guesses about what it is I am trying to accomplish. Just cold, dark detachment. Separate personal life from professional or the mission could be compromised. What I've been doing for years.

Why does this feel so wrong?

The shouting match continues on the floor above, Biggs's voice echoing this time. Once again, Tifa responds in an equal, almost snippy sort of tone. I really should be the one up there helping in the ongoing battle now entering day five. Had it not been for Barret being adamant about me being, quite literally, locked in the basement, I probably would have jumped right in, even though I do not agree with the subject being discussed.

He is involved. That much I am aware of. And if he is involved, I am involved. Although, I'm not exactly sure just what they have been bickering about though. No names have been mentioned from what I can hear. All Tifa seems to be trying to imply is that we need some extra help, and that it should be of the Shinra kind. Something you never want to mention to Barret's face unless you have a death wish.

The pieces fit together to form a small box-like shape. The first of many layers required to contain the ammunition for the blast. I subconsciously separate the wires with my fingertips, making three different piles. The first of which will carry the charge, the second to receive it, and the third to add an extra spark when the time is right. All I have to do is write a quick program to control the timing of the blast on our end and construct it accordingly, and we will be set to attack when we please.

That is if this screwdriver actually fits the screws I managed to collect. Something tells me a butter knife might do better. Still, to walk into that warzone up there would not be a wise choice. I'll make due with what I have.

Wedge's trying to calm everyone down and failing miserably. Poor guy. Once Barret gets into one of his 'episodes' as I have been calling them as of late, you cannot get him out of them and just have to let it play out and try not to get shot. Which is probably why this five year old is currently helping me assemble a bomb.

"Aunt Jessie? Why are they yelling so loud?"

An innocent question from an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. I look up from the bomb casing with a sigh. Why do I always have to be the one left with the children?

"Grownup stuff," I reply, a part of me longing for the shouting to stop. It reminds me of how Tseng and Scarlet used to get into it long before there was a sense of an actual boundary between the Department of Administrative Research and the Department of Weapons Research. I always hated those arguments. Someone always ended up getting hurt or worse, especially when Heidegger and Lazard stepped in.

"Daddy sounds pretty angry. So does Aunt Tifa. Does all grownup stuff involve yelling?" It's almost terrifying how Marlene reminds me a bit of myself at her age. So innocent, and yet, wise beyond her years. This whole thing is wrong. A child should not be expected to have to weather the sins of their parents just because they happen to be involved. I draw a spare crate against the table and bid her to sit down.

"No," I begin twisting wires together and lining them around the inside of the casing once again. "Most grownup things can be resolved peacefully."

"What does resolved mean?"

The wire slips through my fingers at a light trembling movement of my hand. Concentrate. You have to have these the exact length. At least that's what my plans say anyway.

"It means that they don't yell, just talk very loudly at one another until they both eventually realize that one of them is right and the other agrees with it. When that happens, they stop arguing and everyone gets along." It's not much of an answer. But then again, I doubt Barret would appreciate the Turk's definition of 'resolving' a conflict being explained to his daughter. Especially since most conflicts between our people and theirs usually ended with one shot or less…Yeah, I think I like the non-Turk definition better. A lot less people die that way.

Okay, now what do I need to do again? My eyes rove over the diagram, picking out the second portion of the casing, the ammunition chamber. This is gonna be a little tougher. If I put this piece of plastic here, and this one here, I might be able to separate these two sections so that they never touch. Hmmm. That won't work because then I have these parts and the wires need to run around the top again. Perhaps I can use these metal trimmings to make a runner along the top-

"You and Aunt Tifa don't seem to get along, and you were yelling the other day."

I glance down at the pieces of plastic arranged in a semi-lopsided square, my fingers steady as I bend the softer aluminum strips down to hold the plastic in place. With a sigh, I set the screwdriver down and flick a few of the renegade screws out of the way to allow me more room to work. This would be so much easier with a pair of pliers and better lighting. Another round of shouting has begun up there, this time headed by Biggs, making it next to impossible to even think about searching for more tools.

"That's different Marlene." Might as well get the kid off of my back first so I can concentrate enough to finish assembling this part and then attached the computer chips to the wires. "Aunt Tifa said something that really bothered me and well, not all arguments can be resolved quickly and peacefully."

"Why's that Aunt Jessie?" she inquires with the curiosity only a child can possess.

"Well, it's complicated. You see-" I try to refocus on the task at hand, snapping several wires into the makeshift molding and marking the top corner as a potential computer chip location. "Sometimes grownups say mean things that make other grownups angry. It would kind of be like if Denzel were to say something mean to you and you couldn't say anything mean in return. Only, grownups make things more complicated and sometimes, we don't like to talk to the other person for a while. It's our way of showing respect, and there is a lot less yelling involved."

She seems to be pondering this in that mind of hers, tiny fingers toying with a few of the pieces of plastic and one of the remaining pieces of metal.

"Grownups should learn to play nicer then," she crosses her arms and glares at the pieces now fashioned into some sort of corral for the screws and smaller pieces. "When Denzel and I fight, Aunt Tifa sends us each to different corners. She says if we can't play nice, we can't play together at all. Grownups should have to go to the corners too when they're mean."

The wires once again slip out of my grasp, snagging against the ammunition case in a tangled mess. Trying to suppress the few choice words I'm thinking about for a situation such as this, I pick away the red and yellow wires, looping the green and blue one over my wrist and once again try to line them around the outer container. If only life was as simple as sending all of the bad people to the corner.

"Are you and Aunt Tifa ever gonna talk to each other again?"

I glance up, finding her staring at me with this sort of questioning look about her. I don't like that look. It's too imposing and almost intimidating to an extent.

And she's not the one building a bomb.

"It'll turn out alright," I assure her. "Aunt Tifa and I won't stay angry at one another forever. Sooner or later things will go back to normal and the yelling and name calling will stop."

"Good. Everyone will play nice again."

Well…I take another look at the plans and install the computer chip along the upper right corner. I'm not too certain that we'll be playing 'nice'. I prefer the term 'civilized' over 'nice' any day. Then again, with what it is we're about to do to Shinra, can it even be remotely considered that?

"Yeah…Everyone will play nice."

There is a crash much to the atonement of thunder from the section closest to the only way out of here, followed by the sound of boots against wood. When did the arguing and fighting stop? Must've been too busy thinking about this bomb to notice the quiet up there. That's never a good thing.

"Jessie!" Tifa sounds awfully flustered about something. I pretend to be more interested in my work than I am in engaging in any form of conversation with this woman. With any luck, she'll see that Marlene is present and backs off before yet another argument ensues. Barret might frown upon his daughter hearing the few choice words that might be exchanged between us.

Now let's see. Casing? Check. Wires? Check. Computer chips? In place but need programmed and tested.

"Jessie?"

For the love of Holy! Leave me the heck alone. I drive the point of my already worn pencil against the surface of the plans, not even looking up at her and secretly hoping the harsher than usual scratch of the lead against the paper might be enough to drive her away.

"Jessie, please. I need your help." She takes an almost hesitant step towards my worktable, ignoring the warning look I manage to give her as I look up from the plans.

"I'm busy."

"This is important."

I gesture to the plans and the bomb occupying the space in front of me, tapping the pencil against the metallic trim.

"And so is this."

Barret gave me this job with strict instructions to finish it in a timely manner. That is one person I have little intention of pissing off in my lifetime if I can help it. Whatever it is can wait until this is done.

"Marlene," Tifa gestures to the lift, her voice stern. "Go help your papa with the woodstove. Aunt Jessie and I need to talk."

The gritting of her teeth at the word talk makes me cringe. The moment that kid leaves this basement, all hell's probably going to break loose again. I don't need this today.

Marlene steps away from the crate, a little hesitant in the motion, and sundress covered in soot and dirt from being in this basement. "You two are gonna fight again. That's not nice."

I set the pencil down and push my project towards the center of the table, separating my ingredients. Should the need to move quickly arise, I do not want what I already accomplished destroyed. Bomb fragments and mako powder mixing would not be a good thing in such confined corridors.

"Marlene," I reply, equally stern. Perhaps removing the child from this situation would be the best option anyway. "Go help your father."

She scampers away with a look towards the both of us, vanishing up the lift seconds later. Only then does Tifa dare to step over to the table.

"We already established that I want no part in whatever it is you are trying to convince Barret of."

She toys with the strings of her apron nervously, as though something is weighing heavy on her mind.

"This isn't about Barret. This is about Cloud."

"I don't care who it is about." My fist connects with the surface of the table. "I am not helping to get him into AVALANCHE or anything else that involves him or his wellbeing. He's strictly your problem at this point. I want nothing to do with this anymore."

There, I officially threw the towel in and surrendered. Defeat, the most bitter of the humiliations that can befall a Turk in his or her lifetime. What more could she possibly want from me? So what if I have to give up any and all rights to protecting Zack's legacy at this point? If it gets me as far away from him as possible, I'm ready for it. I'm done fighting a losing, one-sided battle.

"You don't mean that Jessie."

"I mean every word of it. This-" My hand sweeps over the bomb and materials. "Is my problem. I don't have the time nor energy to dedicate to even so much as thinking about his wellbeing at this point. So just back off and let me alone to do the job I was entrusted with to do. My dealings are with Barret. Nobody else."

She sighs and looks over the plans, as though they have some meaning to her in some way.

"You are the only one I can trust with this problem. I need your help."

What possibly could this woman want from me that already hasn't been asked? I don't have the time even if I _wanted_ to help.

"Tifa-"

"He's gone Jessie."

Everything crashes to a frigid halt around me, the tormenting twinge of ice riding the air much like the force of nature we represent. Did she just say that he is - _gone_?

"What?"

"He's gone. There was nothing I could do. It happened so quickly."

Ten million possibilities of what this could mean try to pick themselves out of the train wreck of what remains of my world at the same time. The mako poisoning. Holy. I didn't think-

Wait. I try to reign my worse case scenario thoughts in before they consume me. Be a Turk, I remind myself. It's never the worse case scenario. Always the second or third worse. Never the first. Gone has many meanings. But the way she said it…

No. He's stronger than that. He can't be-

"Jessie. Listen to me. I need your help with this. You cannot just walk away from this right now."

I hesitantly stand, hands quivering at the thought. Oh Holy. Holy no. I-I can't. I can't do this. Not Cloud. Zack was horrible enough. I-I'm not ready to handle something of this caliber. Not this soon.

"What happened?" My words are hesitant and brief, a reflection of the progress I'm making in dealing with this sort of issue.

"I thought he was upstairs when I was speaking with Barret and the boys, but when I went upstairs, he was gone. Just vanished into thin air."

This is even worse than my worse case scenario of him being in the Promised Land.

"No one just vanishes into thin air."

There's always some hint of where they went. Always. Cloud in his state should have left a huge trail of where he's been and where he is headed. And the fact that he never came down the steps leaves only a few options for hiding places. Unless-

I don't even give her a chance to respond as I grab Rekka from its resting place in my corner and throw my cloak over my shoulders, just in case. Oh Zack. Keep him safe until we find him. Please don't let him be dead in some alleyway somewhere.

"Jessie?"

"Follow me. Now."

The lift grinds to a slow halt in the empty bar, but I'm already halfway across the floor and practically running up those rickety stairs. The more time I waste, the lesser his odds of survival become.

"Tifa, he was in his room before he went missing right?" The blankets on the bed lay scattered around in haphazard formation, as though whoever had been there last had been in a great hurry. Just like that morning.

"Yes."

"Good. That helps narrow this down. You try the other side of the bed, even under it. I'll try by the dresser. He could not have gone far."

I hope so at least. Oh Cloud. Why do you insist on doing this to me? Why can't you be a little bit more like - Zack? The thought makes me freeze in place. Zack was a wanderer. It only makes sense that Cloud would be too.

A light draft whisks through the crevice beneath the window. Son of a - The oldest trick in the book. I pry the window open, noting the faint scratches against the shingles beyond. From here I can't tell if there is a body lying on the ground below though. My heart races at the thought. Please don't be lying on the ground below. I try to recall anything Tseng offered as tips for dealing with this sort of scenario. You always follow your target, no matter where they might go. It worked for finding Zack. It should work for Cloud.

That means…

"Does this roof go anywhere besides up?" It makes sense to know my surroundings before I jump. She nods.

"There is a ladder in the back, but it goes to a fallen beam and then down to a back alley on the way to Sector Eight."

A perfect, almost easy escape route. Cloud. What in the hell are you thinking in that head of yours? Still. There is no easy way to get to Sector Eight unless I backtrack through Sector Six and take an offshoot path. And with it being this cold out, and from the looks of it, he's only wearing the clothes he sleeps in, I might already be too late. But he thought to close the window on his way out.

I've sorely underestimated him.

"I'm going after him. If Barret asks, I'm gathering materials." I hand her my shuriken. It won't do me an ounce of good if I have to do any climbing and I sure don't want to land on it if I fall.

"Jessie, please be careful."

I turn towards the open window and draw a deep breath, grasping the frame.

"I'll be fine."

Alright Cloud, you had better still be alive and okay.


	36. A Rooftop Chat

**Hey folks! Here's an update for ya'll. (Granted it's not the best thing I've written in a while, but it will have to do. Updates for the next two weeks are going to be sporadic at best, as I've been super busy with work and everything else that takes priority over fan fiction.) Anyway, when I get the chance I'll get more posted. Until then, enjoy this chapter.**

**Chapter Thirty Six - A Rooftop Chat**

This seemed like a good idea at the time...

"Jessie! Are you alright?"

Several shingles clatter to the concrete and shale below, eliciting tiny dust plumes where they land in lifeless heaps. I grasp the crooked gutter spout, trying to force my chilled fingers to reach for something a little bit more solid. The groan of ancient rusty metal rattles ominously from the far corner of the building. That doesn't sound good at all.

The good news is that Cloud's broken body is not lying on the ground below. The bad news is that in a few seconds, mine probably will be. My boots slip against the shingles, several slipping out from underneath me. I'm gonna die. My pulse quickens, the chill of the air nothing compared to the frigid reality of the thin line of metal separating me from the concrete and steel ground earth below. That fall itself won't kill me. It's that sudden stop at the bottom. You never feel the actual fall itself, only the impact. So I've been told.

"Y-yes." I wince, every muscle in my upper body burning with discomfort from the sudden descent and abrupt halt. Thank Holy for having reflexes faster than most animals or I would have plunged to my death seconds ago. "I-I'm okay Tifa."

At least for the next several seconds anyway. The gutter groans as it separates from the side of the wall, throwing me backwards several inches. Damn it. I won't be able to climb back up without taking most of the shingles down with me. Whoever built this place never nailed any of them down for some odd reason.

"Hang on Jessie, I'll find a rope or something to help pull you up with."

Easier said than done. I grit my teeth and press the toe of my left boot against a crack in the roof where a shingle once resided. Finding a rope long enough will take too long. I was more than halfway across the roof before my damn leg took a wrong step on a loose shingle and the whole thing went out from underneath me. To reach for a rope - I might as well just let go and take my chances with falling from a second story window onto concrete. When I look back towards the window, she's gone.

The click of a rusted nail rolling along the edge deafens the air, the gutter collapsing with a shriek. I gotta do something right now.

Okay, think. Everything looks so unsturdy, like someone took soggy cardboard and painted it to pass for a roof. There's a small, flat veranda-like structure further up, but it's a good deal out of range. What else? I chance a slow look around, my fingers slipping from the cold.

I'm not afraid of heights. I'm not afraid. I'll be fine. It's just a little mishap. It's not like you're clinging to a cliff with a raging river rushing below you that if you fall, you'll be swept over a raging waterfall and dashed amongst the rocks. No. It's a rickety roof.

Sure as hell feels like a cliff though.

Cloud, when I find you, I swear I'm going to put you back in that coma you managed to get out of for this. For what lousy reason would you even consider climbing out on this roof for? More importantly, how did you do it without falling? I glance towards the upper area.

Only one chance not to screw this up. If I could only reach that flatter, more stable area up there, beneath the molding of crisscrossed support beams. Yes, I need to get up there. But how in the hell-

Don't look down, I remind myself, the world teetering into focus against a backdrop of gray and brown. This is not the first time I've had to jump between buildings. This was covered in training, and I was pretty good at it. Then again, there is a major difference between jumping up and jumping across. The latter I am now faced with.

The gutter shifts again, this time giving me more than a simple warning in the form of a shower of twisted metal and my foot loosing its grip. Okay. I draw a deep breath, glancing at the flat section. Six feet maybe? Possibly eight if you include the molding. An easy obstacle. Just have to take it fast and then slow.

I hope no one actually sees me fall. Explaining this Barret would not be pleasant, as I'm supposed to be in the basement, not out here on the roof. My feet scratch against the wood, catching a crag in the boards and allowing me some leverage. Good. I can climb the boards at least. I shift my weight and dig my fingers into the grooves of the gutter, managing to get my elbows back onto the shingles.

Mission one accomplished, for now. I drive my left elbow against one of the aluminum shingles and dare to reach for an exposed gap in the roof where another shingle once rested. The gutter growls angrily and swing out of reach. No going back now.

The damp shingles slip towards me as my partially numb fingers brush over them in search of sturdy pieces of wood to grab. What am I worried about? It's only six easy feet on a near-vertical slope. Piece of cake. If only confidence was a certain as failure.

My boots scrape against the shingles as I manage to get my body back onto the roof and balanced upon my knees. I look towards my safe haven once again, picking out the sturdier path and begin slowly climbing towards it. I feel like one of those lizards that scale walls with the suction cups on their little claws. That would come in handy right about now.

Once again, I manage to lose the window from view, faced only with the darkened shadows of the sloping roof and mismatched, uneven roofing practices of the slums. My fingers close around a sturdy, damp piece of wood somewhere near a steam pipe, allowing me the sturdy ground I've been looking for - or at least a chance to scramble up onto flatter territory. Swinging my leg over the minor barrier of wood and keeping a death grasp on the metal, I chance a look below me. That was a close one.

How did he manage to get up here anyway without falling? A slight disturbance in the way the shingles rest across one another tells me that he did indeed travel this way towards Sector Eight. But it just doesn't make any sense as to why he would do such a thing. And in his state - he should have fallen the moment he stepped out of the window.

What are you up to Cloud? I don't think even Zack would do something this insane.

I continue making my way across the roof towards the broken steel beams leaning against it, frozen in time by rust and corrosion. That is going to be a long way down, but so far so good. At least I haven't found any bodies yet. I reach for the surface of the beam, testing the steel with my foot. Seems sturdy enough. I'll have to avoid the rusty portions though.

Tifa owes me big time for this.

The beam remains solid as I grasp the uneven crisscrossed welded sections and attempt to figure out the best way to the alleyway below. From the looks of things, it's not well traveled at all, which is to my benefit. I'd hate to have to encounter anyone of threat in the dark.

There is a scratching noise from somewhere to the upper left, much like that of some sort of animal. Every muscle in my body tenses at the thought. More spiders? That would not be a good thing. Some sort of fuzzy animal with ravenous teeth? Even worse. I try to maneuver my way further out onto the beam to put distance between myself and whatever it might be. For once, I'm actually happy about being short. I'd like to see someone like Reno do this kind of thing.

The scraping sound continues to approach, a little bit faster from the western corner of the building. That doesn't sound like a spider. I instinctively try to move out of range, finding the beam in complete disagreement and virtually blocking my path. This isn't good at all. Please be something manageable and not something capable of long range attack.

The dull light from this angle skims the surface of the roof, materializing into some sort of…thing moving at a good speed in my direction. I try to inch closer to the ladder-like structure leading to the ground below, the frost making this beam rather unpleasant to even attempt to climb and the shingles shifting with the same type of construction as seen on the other side of the roof. My foot slips against one of the tresses, slamming my knee into the metal and sending a shockwave of pain through my lower leg.

"Help!"

I can only cry out in surprise as my hip collides with the roof. The air rushes up around me as I frantically reach for anything to halt my decent, the steel and cracked aluminum scratching across my fingers as it slips through my grasp in a shower of shingles and rotted wood. I should have never even bothered to try to follow him until I was certain of my route. I should have hoped a barbed wire fence somewhere from the ground and followed that way. It would have taken longer, but would have been less painful for me than a fall is going to be. At least you can cut through barbed wire with a pair of pliers.

Falls. Yes, if you can hit the ground at the right angle, it lessens the shock and prevents bones from being broken. But from this height, there is only a less than favorable chance that I'll get the right angle.

A hand grasps my wrist, stopping my decent with a cruel wrench backwards, my shoulder colliding with the wall and my legs instinctively scrambling to find some sort of footing, finding only air. Heart thundering in my chest and trying to keep the look of the ground looming below from my thoughts.

"I've got you. Hang on." That voice. Holy. Talk about timing and a half. There simply are no odds for this sort of situation. None.

I manage to get my feet against the side of the building, my knee still throbbing at the motion. Might as well help my savior pull me up.

Never has being back on an unsteady roof felt so comforting. I press my back against the wall and try to catch my breath, not even wanting to consider how that could have ended. Tseng would have shot me for flogging that up like I did. Turks don't make stupid mistakes, and quite obviously I was not thinking straight when I ended up falling like that. I blame it on the man seated next to me. This is his fault for running off like that.

Gods my life has become one of those cheesy soap operas overnight. First I'm fleeing for my life, and now I'm making dumb mistakes and being saved by semi-confused amnesiacs who just hop out of bed and decide they're going to climb the roof of the building they're in because they can. I miss my old life. It was a lot less dramatic as this one is.

"Are you okay?" he asks, as though he is intimidated by the question. At this point, he should be intimidated. I'm half tempted to shove him off of the roof for pulling this sort of stunt to begin with. I'd be a lot better if I was not sitting on a roof of AVALANCHE's headquarters, in the cold, watching the mako lanterns flicker along the street below like tiny candles set there to illuminate a dirt-crusted window.

"I've been better."

Yeah. What in the heck happened to me? One day I'm fast and the Turk I once was. The next, I turn into the damsel in distress. Guess I'm out of practice moreso that I thought.

Cloud shifts nervously beside me, those mako eyes the clearest I'veever seen them. He still looks like he crawled out of Hades, but there is color in his cheeks and a lot less confusion in those eyes of his. It's like looking at a whole other person than the one I remember. He looks, more alive.

"Why'd you climb up here anyway?" I try to sound a little less angry at him for doing something stupid that could have gotten him killed. He's alive. That's all that matters. "It's not like there's anything to see that you can't see down on the ground."

He ponders it for a moment before glancing up at the plate above, the boring mako lights swirling from every grooved weld and across the reinforced steel in that sickly green color Midgar is so fond of. Resting his bare feet against the shingles and leaning against the wall to look up, the slight tug of a smile crosses his dry lips.

"I had that dream again. Only this time, it was different." A tint of enthusiasm coats his voice as he points to the plate above. "There were stars up there. Lots of stars. And the most beautiful moon I've ever seen. It was beautiful. No dangers. No fighting. Just quiet peaceful stars on a backdrop of midnight blue."

Stars? He climbed out of bed, through a window in his nightclothes to see a bunch of stars that don't exist. Okay then. Looks like we're going to have to put locks on all exits to that room of his. A warm hand touches my shoulder, making me stiffen in alarm.

"And he was there," His eyes are bright with enthusiasm, his scraggly blond hair sticking to the four winds in desperate need of a brushing. "He said all stars are lucky, but the shooting ones carry a special kind of luck that doesn't exist anywhere else. He said that whenever you see one, you can wish for anything and it will come true."

My gaze scans the underside of the plate again, seeing only the cold cruel metal reality of what I'm involved in. There are no stars lucky enough to be seen down here.

"All I see is metal and steel," I look away with a sigh, hugging my knees to my chest and watching several people meander around the streets, our presence undetected to them. Down here, you can't even see the sky let alone any stars.

Cloud shakes his head and points to the plate.

"Beyond that," he smiles, a gentle, sincere sort of smile that reminds me a lot of Zack when he was in one of his excitable moods upon discovering something he just had to share with everyone close by. "You have to look beyond that metal sky to see them."

"That's stupid Cloud. No one down here can see through that metal plate. The closest we'll ever get is those mako lights up there."

He shakes his head in amusement. I don't see what's so funny. It's a fact of life that everyone down here remains down here under the watchful gaze of Shinra's dark shadow.

"You're wrong about that. Anyone can see through that plate to the sky beyond. You just have to want to."

It's not like I've never seen the stars Cloud. I used to count them when I couldn't sleep at night on assignments that took me away from familiar territory.

"Zack and I used to count them when we were camping out on our missions," a thoughtful look replaces the excited one as he continues to stare at the plate. "He said that she liked the stars, and some nights he would help her count them. That night on the Nibelheim Plains he counted a few and taught me the best way to count them so that you never count the same one twice. He said that if you count the same one twice, it goes out because it's no longer its own star, but someone else's."

I close my eyes to prevent the faint inkling of a tear threatening to show from actually materializing. Zack was something else.

"I don't remember much else from those nights though. Only what he told me. Hey Jessie-"

"Yes Cloud?"

"You ever count stars?"

Far more that I even want to admit. I cross my arms and try to comprehend just why I feel perfectly at ease listening to him talk about this sort of thing. He's got an interesting voice. Much like _his_ was before he was murdered.

"Yes, but I gave up," I reply, still unwilling to open my eyes to look at him. He's alive, foreign as the concept feels. And, he's talking casually without that lag in thought he had for a while. He's going to be fine. The mako poisoning has gone.

"Why'd you stop?" His voice holds a sense of hope in it, the sound of him moving closer reaching my ears and the sense of warmth radiating from his body practically touching my left side.

"The stars vanished from the sky every time I wanted to count them. So I just gave up. It's too sad to count them anyway."

"Sad? But Zack always said it was a happy way to pass the time. Stars can't be sad things."

I open my eyes and shake my head.

"When someone sees a falling star Cloud, it is a sign of death. I've seen too many of them and don't want to count them anymore. To me, stars are not lucky things."

They are reminders of what I have lost. Of how far I have fallen. Of what I have become.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry? Whatever reason does he have to be sorry for? He hasn't done anything really worthy of an apology yet. Even this doesn't qualify, as his being safe is acceptable enough.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I made you sad by mentioning them. I didn't-"

"It's fine Cloud. I'm not offended by it at all. Someday I might start counting them again, but I cannot promise that I will. One never knows just what waits in the shadows."

Tifa's probably worried about me right now and thinking I fell to my death somewhere between here and the window. We probably should be getting back. But still, moments like these are rare.

"Tell you what," Cloud smiles, a beautiful sort of smile I've only known one other to possess. "When we go to see Zack, we'll spend some time counting the stars. And if we see a falling one, you let me handle it. See, I remembered."

"I'll hold you to that." I try to regain my footing against the shingles, my joints stiff from sitting for so long. "Let's go back inside, before Tifa sends a search party for us."

"Jessie?"

What now? He's got so many questions and I've only got a few answers.

"Do you think anyone down here will ever be able to count the stars?"

"Someday," I reply. "I'm sure someday they'll look up there and think about it." He stands up beside me, legs sturdy against the uneven roof. A shiver courses through his form at the invisible wind.

He's alive. He's better than he's ever been. I found him alive and strong. Thank you Zack, wherever you are. Thank you for keeping him from wandering too far. I owe you one.

I remove my cloak from my shoulders and drape it across his in an effort to help control the shivering and prevent him from being chilled anymore than he has to be. With questioning eyes, he draws it around his shoulders, the fabric a little short for him.

"That's Jessie. But won't you get cold?"

"Nah, I'm a lot tougher than I look. I'll be fine. You just concentrate on not getting sick again."

Together, we make our way back across the uneven rooftop. Each footstep. Each crawling motion. Each one I am not afraid of falling. Cloud is alive and safe. Nothing can ruin that. I have no reason to be afraid.

The air beyond the window is warm, my heart racing slightly as I assist the former infantryman back into the safety of his room, directing him towards a frantic Tifa who rushes over to us and checks us both over for injuries. I've never seen someone worry so much as this woman seems to. One minute she wants to kill you, the next, she's being a mother chocobo. People are strange.

Once Cloud is resituated in his bed, the window locked, and a remote sense of stability restored to the circumstances, I gather my cloak and begin the long trek back towards my lonely basement. I still have work to do after all.

"Thank you Jessie. I knew you'd bring him back."

I pause in the doorway, cloak slung over my shoulder and look back towards her with the look of the Turk I once was.

"Tell Barret he stays."

From the corner of my eye, I catch the faint beginnings of a genuine smirk before I vanish into the darkness of the hallway to resume building the bomb that will officially declare our presence in the battle against Shinra.

I'll protect you Cloud. I'm one of the few that can.


	37. The Seventh Heaven Plague

**Sorry about the wait folks, but it's been a busy week around here. No time for fan fiction writing it seemed, so this is sort of a rush job I felt compelled to post before I decided I no longer liked it and tried to rewrite it over and over to the point where you get no updates because of my nitpickiness. :Stares at screen: Whoa, according to my word program, that is a word and it's spelled right. Lol. Anyway, here's an update for ya'll with many more to follow here soon. :Runs off to pry Dis's mind out of the gutter, knowing full well it will just slink right back in there the moment I look away: Enjoy.**

**Chapter Thirty Seven - The Seventh Heaven Plague**

Out of all of the things listed under potential threats to delaying AVALANCHE's first bombing mission of Mako Reactor One, a five year old with a cold never crossed my mind. From now on I'm going to write that in atop every list, as it appears to be the most destructive of the threats we're facing right now. Forget Tseng and the Turks.

"Lord almighty Jessie, you look like hell."

Thanks Barret. I'll keep that in mind when you catch this. Even the cup of tea clutched in my trembling hands doesn't seem as appetizing as it looked five minutes ago when I finally manage to take a seat at the table amongst the lucky few who have already managed to escape the clutches of what is quickly becoming known as the Seventh Heaven Plague.

A series of shivers creep through my body, making me draw my cloak tighter in an effort to ward of the chill making my skin prickle with the slimy discomfort of sweat drenching my nightclothes. Not even a nice shower can wash that feeling away at this stage. Ugh, I just wanna crawl back into my bed and burrow beneath he sheets until whatever inhuman creature that chose to hijack my body with its irritating grip decides to move on and leave me alone.

Biggs offers me a sympathetic glance from across the table and pushes the morning newspaper to the side in favor of that disgusting drink he calls whiskey. It's far too - I catch sight of the clock on the wall in surprise - well into the evening rush for that type of drink. Holy, I've been out of it for most of the day.

"It's got you too eh?" he smiles, somewhat weary in his words and drapes his hand across my forehead amidst the tangled hair I haven't even managed to brush yet. "You've got one hell of a fever Jess."

Tell me about it. My head feels like a cauldron left in the fire with the sole purpose of boiling my brain to a disgusting mush. Every muscle aches with the chills raking through them with the message to abandon any type of movement in favor of simply existing. I could have sworn someone hit me with a truck while I was sleeping too. There just aren't any tire tracks to prove it.

"Well, ain't nothing more ya can do than go back to bed and try to sleep it off. Tifa says its been going around and seeing that you and her have been taking care of everyone for the past week, it's only fair that we get to take care of you two now."

I'm not entirely certain if I should be worried, or grateful for their offer. Either way, I can only respond with a defeated nod, as anything I even try to say is too hoarse to even understand and yelling is damn near impossible thanks to this sore throat. Being the last one to get the flu sucks.

"Come on, I'll help ya get back to bed." Biggs gently grasps my shoulder despite my weary attempt at a growl of protest and guides me across the floor as though I'm some sort of frail old lady. I certainly feel like one though. He offers me a sympathetic look and retrieves my cup of tea as well. "Wedge is making some sort of soup for dinner. Don't worry though, he's a decent chef. We'll bring some down for ya when it's done."

Fantastic. Tifa once warned me about the boys in the kitchen. Said something about their unusual fascination with chili peppers and whatever else they could get their grubby little paws on. From what I understand, most of their cooking was deemed semi-lethal and shouldn't even be fed to the stray dogs that roam the streets. If I wasn't feeling like death warmed over before, I certainly will be afterwards.

The funny thing about being sick are the dreams you have while trying to sleep off the war between your immune system and the invaders trying to pick apart your every body part. Most of them are easily forgotten, taking the form of random events that most people won't remember upon wakening. And then there are the vivid types of dreams that leave you wide awake, drenched in sweat, trembling and clutching the blanket in terror, uncertain of even where you are or how you got there. I've counted eight so far in this short three hour stretch of time.

It was raining out on that ridge…and quiet. So quiet you could hear a chocobo warbling for miles no matter what direction you faced. And it was hot for the season it should have been. Much too hot. The dark clouds loomed for miles across every sinister rocky alcove, encasing them with an iron fist of foreboding. It felt like I was walking right into a colosseum, about to witness the showdown of the century.

Only, instead of gladiators and lions, it was a SOLDIER and Shinra. A one man army against thousands. No matter how hard I tried to look away, tried to flee back the way I came, everything continued to focus on the battle that unfolded upon those wastelands.

Zack…

There was so much blood. So much carnage. Every shrill of the Buster Sword being swung through the air, every gunshot that answered. So much death and destruction. I tried to look away, to not watch the bloodbath. And then fire erupted from everywhere, obscuring my vision and creating a hellish inferno all around. There was no place to run to. No chance of escape.

I pull the blanket closer to my trembling body in an effort to wipe the vivid dream from my mind. It's always the same dream. He's being slaughtered, and I can't do a thing about it. Why does it have to haunt me? Why?

"Are you alright Jessie?" Biggs is looking at me with worry in his eyes from his spot at the makeshift table I've been working from for the better part of a few weeks now.

"Yes," I manage a hoarse whisper. "It was only a nightmare."

He takes a seat upon the floor by my bed, a small ceramic bowl filled to the brim with some sort of dark liquid in hand.

"Can't fault ya for that. When I was suffering through it, I had dreams of being chased by man-eating tomatoes. It wasn't fun."

Heh, good old Biggs. Always trying to make a bad situation better. Wish I could dream of man eating tomatoes instead of SOLDIERs being slaughtered by the people I once worked for. It would be a heck of a lot more interesting at least.

My hands continue to tremble as I accept the bowl of what Biggs claims is some sort of hybrid beef-chicken-carrot-mystery veggie stew. Not that I'm hungry right now, but from what I can smell of it, it seems edible. I take a cautious taste of it - there's always antidotes up in the cabinet if it proves to be poisonous.

Okay, so it's not the worse food I've ever eaten. If anything, it tastes pretty decent for whatever type of soup it is supposed to be. Wedge really isn't that bad of a cook. Still. A little bit of salt might not hurt.

"Told ya he was a decent chef," he smiles as I manage to pick through the vegetables. "You should taste the chili he cooks. Stuff will put hair on your chest that's for sure."

Let's survive the soup first Biggs. I don't think I'm up for chili anytime soon. And if it's anything like Reno's cooking, I never will be.

The spoon clatters against the bowl when I finally do manage to finish the last portion of soup. With any luck, those rumors about chicken soup will be true and I'll feel better a little bit faster. Then again, this really doesn't qualify as chicken soup. Oh well. It's better than nothing.

Half of a hour later, Biggs has returned to the upper level of the bar, leaving me alone once again to attempt to get some sleep. As I draw the blankets up to my chin and settle back into my little corner of the world, I try to think of the happier moments spent with Zack. Like in Gongaga, or at Costa Del Sol. Maybe if I try to remember the positive things about him, I won't see him die over and over again each time I try to sleep.

If only such things were possible.

This time, the rain falls with a passion, each droplet shattering upon the stones and trickling down into the darkness of the cracks and ravines that make this place so haunting. I try not to watch, the chill of water striking my skin telling me all that I need to know. Gunshots in the distance. Fire in the sky. Everything's so dark and angry. I can hear them marching in long rows across the stones, their boots drenched with rain that turns to blood. Stoic, angry men, all facing the one man who dared to wish for freedom. And once again, all I can do, is stand here amongst the rocks, and watch the inevitable begin.

He's faster than they anticipate. Rain running down his armor and uniform, the blade of the Buster Sword ticked with steel and blood, severing each chain of commanders and infantrymen as they swarm up the stones. He's fighting for him, and for her. I look towards the rocks in the distance, somehow knowing that Cloud is somewhere around here as well. Somewhere safe.

Bullets fly through the air, Zack trying his damnedest to stay standing. I-I can't even remember what he looks like. That's not the Zack I know. It's too blurry to be him. My feet slip upon the loose stones, sending me crashing to my knees in the mud. I don't want to see this again. Please no.

Gunfire erupts closer, each bullet shattering the stone.

He's yelling something, but I can't understand what it is. The stones tremble with the amount of soldiers rushing up the banks. A piece of stone shatters dangerously close, making me take an instinctive step in reverse to avoid being hit. Zack. Please don't die.

The soul shattering scream of automatic rifles and grenades being activated sends me fleeing further away. There's nothing I can do to prevent this. He's going to die. I want to run towards him, to protect him, but each time I try to move forward, he goes further away. No matter how fast I run, I'll never make it in time.

He's looking towards me now, a look I can barely make out upon his face. I try to take one last step towards him as the bullets surge through the air.

"Zack!"

Something warm touches my shoulder, guiding me away from the carnage of the battlefield, and with it, Zack's last, inaudible words.

"Hey. Wake up Jessie."

That voice sounds familiar. I instinctively move away from the touch, trying to bury deeper into the covers. I don't want to deal with it right now.

"I brought you some water."

The blankets, despite my best protests, are drawn away, leaving me once again back in the dull light of the basement as far from the wastelands as humanly possible at the moment. I manage a grumble of reply and weakly take a swing at the person responsible for stealing my blanket. That was mine damn it.

"Whoa. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

I manage to bring the blurry figure into focus, a chill raking across my spine.

"Tifa thought you might like some ice water to help with the fever."

I think I might be just a tad delusional. That, or crazier than I initially thought. He gently helps me sit up, handing me the blanket he'd swiped from me earlier. This isn't possible. It can't be. How is he the healthiest being here today?

"You're not sick?"

He returns my questioning gaze with those mako blue eyes, an impish twinkle deep within and hands me the glass of ice water.

"Nope." I rest my head against his shoulder, trying to will the headache to go away as he merely smiles. "Guess being vaccinated like a bunch of cattle has some advantages."

Lucky SOLDIERs and infantrymen. The Turks are not privileged to such a joyous occasion as being poked with needles and injected with various germ combating fluids. We're usually out doing some sort of mission and miss out. Not that I can complain. Being able to take a few sick days here and there does come in handy when you're part of the only department that gets an allotted amount of sick days each year.

It still sucks though when you actually manage to get sick. At least here, I don't have to worry about filing paperwork explaining my illness to Tseng. I somehow don't think he would have enjoyed a report about the flu and an infantryman thought to be dead while recovering at a terrorist organization based beneath a bar in the slums.

"Why are you down here?" I manage to ask, exhaustion weighing heavy upon my body. Of all of the people I imagined taking care of me, Cloud was not even a possibility. More importantly, if Barret finds out he's hanging around here like a sort of stray tom cat…things will not turn out well for anyone. He smiles that dreadfully charming smile of his and leans his back against the wall, blond hair flaring everywhere.

"Tifa said you might be lonely down here with no one to talk to."

Since when does Tifa care about something like that? No. There has to be some other reason why she would send someone like him down here to talk to me. No one just randomly sends an infantryman into AVALANCHE headquarters without Barret knowing. And I know that he does not know about Cloud. I move away from him and glance towards the basement exit. What time is it?

"I brought you something to eat too." He reaches for a small bowl balanced precariously upon the edge of a tray nearby. "It's not quite chickeny enough to be chicken soup, but Tifa said it should make you feel better."

I smile and accept the bowl from him. It's like sitting in the same room with an overprotective Zack-like being. Too chickeny. There is no such thing. I take a sip of the broth. It's not bad from what I can taste of it. Tifa must be feeling better if she's cooking again.

"How is it?"

"It's good."

His eyes seem to light up at the prospect of this soup being considered good. Just like an excitable little puppy might react in such a situation. A smile crosses his face as the sound of a second person entering the area reaches my ears and the instinct to prepare for an attack creeps through my aching muscles. Where's Rekka when I need it?

"How are you feeling Jessie?" Never mind. Attack might not be a good thing right now anyway. I glance towards Tifa as she steps around the cluttered floor to take a seat at the table.

"I've been better," I reply, looking back to the soup. Catching the flu isn't what I would call fine and dandy. She smiles and rearranges the glass on the tray.

"It's been going around. Denzel had it last week, so it was only a matter of time before Marlene caught it and gave it to all of us."

Children. You have to love them.

"How's the soup? Better than Wedge's?"

"No contest." She laughs at the answer and carefully retrieves the half empty bowl. I wish I could have finished it, but I'm just not that hungry.

"I thought you might say that. He tries, but doesn't exactly understand the concept behind mixing ingredients that work well together yet. I'm glad this batch turned out."

"Wedge made that?" I dare to inquire, not sure if I want the answer or not. Either he's a master chef masquerading as a wannabe chef, or he's got luck to rival anyone. Tifa shakes her head and gestures to Cloud.

"No, he did. He said he wanted to make you something special for dinner."

I look towards the infantryman in surprise, catching an impish smirk. Zack couldn't cook worth a hill of beans. None of Shinra-oriented creatures could. Hell, even the Turks can't cook, a fact I am none too ashamed to admit I fit right in with. And yet this infantryman manages to make one of the best bowls of soup I've ever had. Either the world is ending as I think this, or I'm a lot sicker than I feel.

Cloud. This Cloud. Wanting to make dinner for me? That's awfully kind of him.

"You didn't have to do that." In all honesty, he really didn't need to waste the time and energy. I continue to watch him, trying to figure him out. One minute he's all depressed and thinking about Zack. The next, he's standing in the kitchen stirring a pot of soup. What goes on in that mind of his?

"Yes he did," Tifa quips, pointing to the blushing infantryman. "He's been pacing like an anxious puppy all week. He got even worse when he found out you weren't feeling well, so I allowed him to cook and bring dinner to you."

Cloud. Quiet Cloud, actually worried about me? This is just weird. He's the one who should be resting in bed. Who knows if his Mako Poisoning might have made him susceptible to catching this no matter how many injections he's had.

I'm feeling kinda tired, which he seems to pick up on right away. Observant little puppy, just like Zack. Too much like Zack. He helps me lay down comfortably and draws the blanket to my chin. I cannot help but smile at the gesture. I'm not a little kid. I could have handled that on my own.

"You get some rest."

I will Cloud. Hopefully, I'll have better dreams this time. No more of Zack being murdered in front of me. Hopefully.

Tifa's footsteps drone through the concrete area as she points Cloud back to the upper level so I can get some sleep without having to worry about having an overprotective infantryman watching over me all night.

He's getting better Zack. He's going to be okay. Keep after him until I feel better. Alright.

"We have a big mission ahead of us once everyone is feeling better again."

Tifa never misses an opportunity to remind me of what we're working on. Yeah. The bomb is almost ready to be taken to the reactor. I didn't forget.

"Yeah," I huddle back into the blankets. "A big mission."

How am I going to convince Barret to let Cloud join us?


	38. Top Dog of AVALANCHE

**Well, this was an interesting chapter to write. It seemed to go fast, but yet, felt like it took forever to get everything to sound decent. :Stares in realization that I actually got something accomplished this week on this fic: Whoa, it's actually up on time. Anyway, while I go treat my Muse to ice cream for actually working this week on this fic, enjoy this lengthy update! **

**Chapter Thirty Eight - Top Dog of AVALANCHE**

"Barret! Stop!"

The impossible.

That is exactly what I'm attempting to do right now as I slink across the uneven floorboards of Seventh Heaven's first floor to stand between the pack of pissed off AVALANCHE members and the uneasy infantryman they've managed to corner behind the table closest to the doorway. A pack of ravenous wolves hell bent on tearing him apart. That's what I'm up against.

The mako lights flicker with their own uneasy thoughts, casting the arena in a hazy halo of light tinted with the scent of smoke lingering upon the air. Tifa's standing well out of range, looking like a frightened spectator at a crime scene unfolding. Guess we underestimated Barret's reaction to encountering someone like Cloud, if the bullet holes riddling the wall behind him are any indication.

I maneuver between the chairs at a quicker pace, momentarily wishing I hadn't left Rekka downstairs. Right about now I wouldn't mind that extra 'insurance' at my side.

There are two phases to winning an impending dog fight such as this one - fight and flight. A good watchdog must know exactly when and where to attack, as well as when to get the hell out of there before they get killed once the fur starts flying. These particular sort of watchdogs must understand how the combat system works from the ground up and be able to get in the ring quickly, gain control of the situation on the first move, and be able to look terrifying enough to frighten the others away without showing weakness. One wrong move, and the battle turns, ultimately injuring the challenger.

Unfortunately, this time, the challenger is me. And, unlike Tifa, who merely skirted a conflict on her attempt, I don't have the luxury of being immune to being shot at. I've never felt as small as right now and if I had a tail, I'd definitely be tucked between my legs in submission.

Hell, Biggs looks absolutely menacing with that .45 of his pointed directly at Cloud's bruised forehead. The added presence of Barret with his automatic gun arm holding him in the sights and Wedge flanking them with a backup pistol make this situation beyond eggshell status.

Rule one for taking on the top dog - know what you're dealing with first and fully understand the consequences before rushing in.

In this case, he's a frustrated, short tempered, eco-terrorist leader with more than a few bones to pick with Shinra. Therefore, since he's the top dog of AVALANCHE, he's the most likely of the trio to shoot first and then ask questions, regardless of who it is doing the talking. He's the one I have to take down if Cloud is going to have even a fraction of a chance of surviving this encounter.

I might be seeing you a little sooner than I think Zack. Now would be a good time to get your ghostly butt down here to help me out a little bit.

Turks do not fear the occasional high stakes dogfight. We're tough opponents to beat and like my former comrades, I've been privileged to participating in a good quarrel or two over the years where my opponents were not as fortunate to walk away at all. I can only hope that same luck is riding high right now and that Tifa will step in to help if I get in way over my head. My fingertips brush against the rough surface of the leather half gloves as I clench my fists at my sides, trying to calm my racing heart. I have only one chance.

"All of you, knock it off." The words sound foreign to me, drawn up from the deepest recesses of my soul and forged into words tipped with steel barbs. There is a metallic warning click, the first of the three firearms now trained on me. Tifa's eyes hold a new level of surprise, as do the three sets I stand in the sights of.

"Get out of the way Jessie." Barret's eyes are cold and merciless like the claws of the dragon king Bahamut. But right now I am not Jessie. Jessie would have fled well before the conflict began. I am Cissnei. These people are not 'friends' but mere acquaintances. Turks do not have 'friends'. Never moreso than now.

"Put the gun down first and I might consider it." A challenge directly to the leader of the pack with the stern hostility of my amber eyes meeting his dark ones. Biggs's trigger finger twitches, ever so briefly in the haunting glow of the atmosphere. A fraction of a centimeter moves the barrel of the .45 within range of my left shoulder, the thick dragging movement of the worn leather sole of his right foot sliding across the grainy floor in a backwards motion. Either way he fires, I'm not going to get out of the way in time to dodge a bullet from that damn gun - and he knows it.

Ancient wool and long softened cotton brush against one another with the stiff creak of leather. The swish of metal making a trail downwards sends a welcomed sense of confidence through my mind. One of the major immediate threats is reconsidering the earlier actions that led to this little standoff.

Oh Cloud. An inward flinch stings my muscles from the brief glimpse I caught of him as he went down beneath a well aimed strike from Biggs within the first several seconds of the fight. He's leaning somewhat heavily against an overturned chair, his heavy breathing painful to the ears. We shouldn't have let this happen like this. We could have prevented this.

"He's with those goddamn Shinra bastards!" Barret's words rake the air with fiery coals. "Goddamn Shinra! Always finding a way to corner us right when we're about to get one up on them. Not this time."

Biggs's eyes flash from the corner of my eye, the renewed anger washing back into the area with brutal force. That's not a good thing.

"Yeah," he gestures to the infantryman quivering behind me, finger upon the trigger. "This bastard's one of them mako enhanced freaks. What's the name for them-"

"SOLDIERs," Wedges answers for his comrade, straying slightly further behind to observe. This isn't working in my favor anymore. I have got to get Barret alone and away from Cloud. But how am I going to do that without giving myself away. Yeah, finding out who I am will make things really interesting.

Slow down. I'm not losing yet. Don't break eye contact yet.

A hail of bullets shatter the wood behind me, sending chills down my spine. A coarse sense of rage wells at the back of my mind, materializing into the feral being I've been trained to be. It's there, waiting attentively for any command I dare to give it. A small shroud of confidence.

"Wait," I hold my hands up in mock surrender in an effort to drive them further away. "Are you sure he's with Shinra?"

"That's a goddamn SOLDIER uniform ain't it?"

"Yes, but are you sure he's really one of them?" I point to Biggs's .45 and back to Cloud. "He fell pretty hard with one strike. Aren't SOLDIERs pseudo-immortal beings with god-like powers incapable of being brought down by the common man?"

"Hey!"

"I'm not wrong about that. That's supposedly a SOLDIER first class uniform." I look towards Wedge in an attempt to play naïve on what I know about Shinra's military protocol. "Right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"How many SOLDIER firsts do you know of?" Once again, I've got the ring to myself, the boys thinking about this. Tifa's crept a little bit closer to the fringe, something unreadable in her eyes as she looks from me to Cloud. Somehow, I think I've said something wrong, but I can't back down now. Too much depends upon this.

Wedge scratches his chin and studies the floorboards, uncertain if he really wants to do this. Whatever he knows will piss Barret off even more, as he no doubt would have worked for Shinra himself at some point if he knew Reeve. Suddenly, Barret's got bigger problems than just Cloud. And what of Tifa? Didn't she lead the expedition to the Nibelheim Mako Reactor four years ago? That makes her one of Shinra's acquaintances now too. And Holy knows what I've done under the Shinra legacy. Now he's got only got Biggs.

More importantly, with the things I know about Mr. Wallace and his involvement with Shinra…

If I wanted to, I could rip AVALANCHE apart and leave it shivering like a little chocobo without suffering a scratch. Right now though, I just don't feel like it.

"There are four are there not?"

Wedge nods, albeit grudgingly. Biggs's eyebrow twitches as he looks to Barret in search of his answer. He knows of them as well.

"Four major SOLDIER first classes. The cream of the crop. Shinra's pride. Who doesn't know their names and quiver in fear?"

Barret's giving me that look again that tells me I really need to shut the hell up right now. That's not my style though.

"I ain't afraid of no damn SOLDIER!"

Right there. Right there is the weakness I've been looking for. Perfect.

"You cannot honestly say that you wouldn't be the least bit scared if Sephiroth himself walked through that door with his katana and pointed it at your throat?"

Tifa takes a hesitant step to put a table between herself and Barret. She knows exactly what I am talking about. Sephiroth was an imposing man who even scared the shit out of Tseng and Commander Veld on many occasions. And if they were scared, how do you think the rest of us felt? SOLDIER commanded respect, and fear. They were the one department that was not disposable.

A twitch at the corner of Barret's mouth as he grits his teeth and lowers his weapon a fraction of a centimeter. Holy I feel like I'm staring at a giant who doesn't quite know whether or not to kill me or let me go.

"That damn silver haired freak don't scare me." Confident as he sounds, the fire just is not there to back it up.

"But they scared the people before you. SOLDIER scared Sears and the others more than any Turk ever could. I have the old files on that computer downstairs to prove it."

The gun arm lowers a little bit more. He's considering this. That is something to regard with respect. If the people before him feared SOLDIER and certain aspects of Shinra, then he probably should be thinking about those particular aspects too. His dark eyes wander accusingly to Cloud.

"What about him then? Which one of them bastards is he supposed to be?"

Not a single one. He's only an infantryman.

"My name is Cloud Strife, ex-SOLDIER First Class."

The blunt force of his words coupled with the scratching sound of him climbing to his feet, using the chair for support, have caught even me by surprise. Wasn't he nearly out of it seconds ago? When did he - a rough hand touches my shoulder, the towering infantryman seeming a lot taller than I remember him. That's my cue to get out of the way and let him handle it.

There's frigid, raw determination in those mako drenched eyes this time. This is not the Cloud I remember. Something darker, much darker lurks behind them. A sense of hatred, be it for Barret or something more radiates from it.

Zack, what did they do down in that basement to him? What in the hell did Biggs do when he clobbered him on the head with that firearm of his? My muscles ache from standing stiff for so long as I painstakingly limp away from the makeshift arena.

I never thought I'd actually be worried about Barret for a change. That's not Cloud. It can't be.

Barret's eyes narrow and he raises the gun arm again in warning.

"Ex-SOLDIER eh? There is no such thing." The click of the ammunition sliding into place in preparation of being fired. "Once with Shinra, always with Shinra."

Those words hurt more than any bullet can. Being with Shinra does not mean staying with them once you leave. You can never go back there when you leave. Never.

Cloud remains intimidating, boldly crossing his arms across his chest and surveying his opponent. Zack did that a lot when he was facing someone new. He's confident, if not a little arrogant that he can easily best the top dog of AVALANCHE.

"I don't work for Shinra anymore. I'm a work for hire mercenary now."

What in the hell? This doesn't sound right at all. Mercenaries? There's no way Tifa and I put this idea into his head. I rest a hand against the table and lean slightly forward to listen closer. From the looks I'm getting from the boys, they're surprised by this whole revelation as well. Work for hire mercenary. Just our luck.

Barret looks like he's going to have a coronary right about now.

"AVALANCHE don't need no mother f-"

"Wait a second Barret."

"Stay out of this Jessie."

"Strife." I pretend to be thinking about this aloud. "I saw his name listed under SOLDIER earlier. He'd just been promoted when something big happened at Shinra involving SOLDIER, the Turks, and the Science Department."

It is a glorified lie and a half, but that should suit the purpose I need it for. Cloud's looking at me with a look of semi-interest and bewilderment, as though he's, dare I say it, offended that I don't 'seem' to know who he is despite taking care of him with Tifa for so long.

"What in the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"A lot." I gesture to Cloud and begin pacing along the fringe of the danger zone. "It certainly would not be a burden to have extra help when we go through with this plan of ours. Having someone of such - interesting - background might benefit us, seeming that we are four people trying to pull of a plan that if one gets killed or something goes wrong, we're pretty much screwed."

Tifa, much to her favor, chooses this time to finally step in and help me out. Not that I need it, but she holds more clout with her words to Barret than I ever could.

"Jessie brings up a good point Barret. You can't fault her for worrying about the what-ifs of this mission, especially since I won't be accompanying you and we're running behind."

His dark eyes fall upon me with that sense of really not wanting to hear this from me right now sort of frustration. Hey, I didn't say it, Tifa did. I merely implied a concern of mine, even if I don't care either way. Still, I might as well add my two cents to the pot because I can.

"Shinra initiated new security measures during that week we lost." It's not a lie, they really did change some things according to the memo sent out to everyone on Tseng's mailing list. "There's going to be more security forces than originally anticipated, and because they're working off of a new shift-change schedule, they can call for reinforcements a lot quicker than before. How are we supposed to decipher codes when people are shooting at us every couple of seconds? Worst yet, what if one of us gets killed during the attempt?"

Yeah, if I die out there, you're all fundamentally screwed, because I'm the only one who knows how to hack the system to get you back out of there once we get in.

"Having a mercenary on our side might not be a bad thing," Tifa suggests, obviously comfortable with the situation as it stands. Not that Barret might not consider shooting us all again, but for now, I'd say go for it.

"I don't want no goddamn Shinra SOLDIER, ex, or not, in AVALANCHE. End of story."

"Actually boss-" Much to my surprise it is actually Biggs stepping up to the plate this time. "You saw what happened last time we tried something like this. Maybe it might be good to go in with an extra person, just in case. He might know the reactor a little bit better than we do."

"Or he might be one of them sent to get in our ranks to get us all killed."

Can't fault him for that logic. That is his job after all - to keep the rest of us from getting killed. Anything after that is our own problem.

"Barret," Tifa chimes in with a pleading tone. "Could you just give it some thought? Please?"

The grumbling we're receiving right now is none too pleasant as it is and she asks him to give this some thought. That's how we keep losing this particular argument. Don't give the top dog the option of thinking this through without having rules to follow. Otherwise he'll just shoot Cloud and be pissed at us for the rest of the week. Neither of which are productive in the long run. Step aside Tifa and let me show you how this is done - Turk style.

"Isn't that being a little bit unreasonable?"

Both members of AVALANCHE look at me, one in horror and the other in minor surprise, gun arm still aimed for Cloud's chest. Not even bothering to act like I even care that I'm treading a very fine plank between glory and perdition, I cross my arms across my chest and lean against the wall, keeping one eye upon them both to gauge their reactions.

"Jessie!" Tifa growls at me, thoroughly offended that I'm switching sides.

"Stay out of this Tifa." A simple warning with enough force to effectively remove her as an obstacle that could hinder me here. Biggs and Wedge exchange looks of confusion, trying to read my next moves and possible motive for becoming so cold towards them all. Unfortunately, you can't read a Turk like a book. We're a whole other language. "You two as well."

The earlier spat was the warm up. This is the real thing this time.

Barret scowls and gives Cloud a warning look, unmoving like a dark, sinister mountain about to erupt with hellish fury. "What the hell's gotten into you all of a sudden Jessie?"

"Go ahead," I gesture towards the lowly infantryman. Holy he looks so innocent standing there as though I've just slapped him across the face. I'm sorry Cloud. That look tears at my soul with the bitter blade of betrayal. Please understand that this has to be this way. I'm doing my job to help you. I have to be this way. "You obviously intend on shooting him regardless of whatever any of us suggest that might be beneficial to AVALANCHE."

"Having the enemy with us ain't beneficial!"

"And shooting him is?" I take a casual stroll around the fringe of the danger-zone, daring to put on foot over the invisible line drawn in front of the bar and the overturned chairs fencing Cloud in. "Really Barret, what do you do if you're wrong and he's not with Shinra?"

"He's with Shinra. He's got the uniform and that look in his eyes."

"Yes," I study Cloud's mako glowing eyes and step away, feeling like a scrapper faced with opportunity, but uncertain if I really want to take the battle to that level. The Turk in me itches to be called upon for a more, vengeful role. "The mark of SOLDIER. The mark of Shinra. But is _he_ one of them?"

"Of course he is. Once with them, always with them."

"Think about that Mr. Wallace." I pretend to be looking out the window at the dreary landscape beyond. "Is that _always_ true?"

There, all of my cards are face up on the table for everyone to see.

"Goddamn it Jessie, you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

It's in my nature. Well Barret. Now what are you going to do? I've got you cornered and didn't even need to bark and growl all that loud to get you there.

"One mission." Two words spoken matter-of-factly with a hint of smugness behind them. "Give him one mission. If he shows _any_ signs of deflecting back to Shinra or jeopardizing the mission, you shoot to kill."

Cloud's eyes are wide with surprise at the words, his silence unnerving. He's a smart kid, knowing when to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. So long as that intelligence is not limited to thought alone, he should be fine.

"Ex-SOLDIER. I don't like this at all," the top dog of AVALANCHE lowers his gun arm with a wary look towards Cloud. "You better not try anything."

"I told you, I don't work for Shinra anymore."

Simply shaking his head in defeat, Barret lumbers out of Seventh Heaven, pausing to look at me before gesturing to Biggs and Wedge to follow him on his rounds. I've seen that look a few times before between Commander Veld and Tseng before the latter vanished under 'mysterious' circumstances. It is a look of disappoint, a question of judgment, a warning.

The door clicks as it returns to its frame at the boys' departures, Tifa stepping gingerly across the floor with Cloud in tow. For a moment, there is only silence, permeated by the dull buzz of a fly somewhere along the ceiling.

"Thank you Jessie."

Sometimes, I wonder, if I made the right choice.


	39. Inheriting The Legacy

**Whoa, the muse really liked that ice cream sundae. She's actually getting stuff done on this fic. : ) Enjoy folks.**

**Chapter Thirty Nine - Inheriting The Legacy**

_Once with Shinra, always with Shinra._

The words echo through my mind with the backlash of a barbed whip, each time rubbing even more salt into the already raw wound inflicted by those words. My calloused fingers absently pick at the flaking paint chips of the porch railing, the chill of the morning air settling over the slums with a foreboding sense of things yet to come. I did not escape from that battle as unscathed as I hoped I might.

Barret hasn't said one word to me since the incident in the bar yesterday evening. Biggs and Wedge are even worse, skittering out of range like I've got the plague or something every time we encounter one another. The paint chips merge into a neat little pile as I push them aside, watching a few flutter to the dead ground below to be trampled and never heard from again.

I never meant to end up putting myself out of the pack like this. Not that I ever belonged to begin with. It was one of those freak accidents that turned out in my favor. But, every time I end up with something remotely stable, it turns out like these paint chips, being picked apart and scattered to the four winds. I should have seen this coming long before now.

This is the price that must be paid when you challenge the top dog and manage to actually win. You have to suffer the consequences. They aren't 'friends' anyway. They are considered acquaintances. Acquaintances are easier to get over losing. Still, that doesn't make this victory much more than bittersweet.

Cloud's going to be involved in this next mission. Poor sweet innocent Cloud, a mercenary for a terrorist organization? It just seems wrong.

That metal plate up there continues to leer down at us with the cloak of mako light rimming its every contour and crevice. The upper world beyond that no doubt being lured into the waking world by the usual hustle and bustle of people trying to get from point A to point B. I close my eyes at the prospect. This is all thanks to that damn steel gray building directly at the center of it all. Shinra.

Once with Shinra, always with Shinra.

No. The railing shudders at my palm striking it at an angle. It's not like that. I'm not working for Shinra anymore than anyone else in AVALANCHE is. Who I was is not who I am anymore. I'm not Shinra's pet anymore.

"Jessie?"

Great. The one person I really don't feel like talking to right now is picking his way across the uneven porch boards in my direction. Maybe if I pretend I'm deaf, he'll go back inside and have a worthwhile discussion with Tifa or something. I don't feel like talking after yesterday.

A good watchdog, after all, knows full well when to just shut the hell up.

"Hey-"

Someone really needs to scrape the rest of these paint chips off of this rail or shouldn't have even painted it at all. It's not a rail anyway; it's an afterthought of the designer.

A rather pale hand grasps the railing to my left, the infantryman tilting his head at an odd angle to stare at me with those curious mako eyes of his. He hasn't even combed his hair yet, the mismatched strands sticking every which way like a wayward chocobo who has just been subjected to a run through the forest. And we expect this man to protect us in the reactor. Heh. He'll fit in better than most of us if he keeps this up.

His elbow's brushing against my shoulder as he leans casually against the railing, resting his one foot upon the bottommost part of it like some sort of explorer.

"Something's bothering you."

I shake the rogue paint chips from my shirtsleeve with a scowl. Bothering me is an understatement and a half Cloud. You cannot even begin to understand what's bugging me right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Damn that caring appeal to his eyes as he studies me, trying to reach his own conclusions. I continue to watch the vacant street stretching into the smog laden mist. In about an hour, it will be littered with scrappers once again trying to make a living, their children playing in the streets chasing stray dogs through alleyways and squabbling about their ambitions for a life above the plates.

"No."

He leans closer, gravity swept hair failing miserably at staying out of those haunting eyes of his. In his black leather and dark woolen uniform, he looks every bit the SOLDIER he is not.

"Why not?"

"It's none of your business."

The magic phrase that is supposed to send most normal people on their way never to ask again. Unfortunately, this one must have missed that particular class and proceeds to continue staring at me as though I'm some sort of rare animal that walked out of the mist and will vanish in a few seconds if he blinks.

"Alright, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I came to say I'm sorry, for, you know, yesterday. I got you into a lot of trouble."

From the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot and rubs the back of his neck with the hand not clutching the railing, he looks like a puppy about to be scolded for doing something wrong. Zack. No. I brush the thought from my mind before it can fully materialize to add insult to injury. This is Cloud I'm dealing with. He's not Zack and never will be.

"It wasn't your fault," I cast a defeated glance at the dying street lamp on the corner closest to the exit of Sector Seven. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. I made the choice to argue with Barret. This is his way of warning me to be more careful next time I pick my battle."

"Nice guy, throwing his people out in the cold like that." A spark of humor dances upon the stagnant air, the railing growling in warning for the infantryman to not lean any further against it or he would be joining the paint chips.

"No one threw me out. I _wanted_ to be alone out here."

No, I _need_ to be alone to work this out for myself. I don't need Tifa, Biggs, Wedge, or even Barret telling me what I should be feeling about my actions and trying to shove me onto the guilt train. I never liked the guilt train. Too many people in line for tickets.

And Cloud. The mercenary…I especially do not need his input on what I did. I challenged Barret for his protection. That's it. Now I get to reflect on it, eventually reach a happy medium justifying my actions for the greater good, and go back to life with my conscience clean of the guilt that tries to hitch a ride along the way. It's been like this for more than sixteen years with every mission.

"No one _wants_ to be alone."

Except this one. Why won't this mission stop haunting me? Zack's dead. I'm 'dead'. There are no more traces out there that can bring that mission back from its cold dark grave. So why won't it just go away? Why can't I move on already?

A warm hand grasps my shoulder, the worried eyes of the infantryman seeing right through my makeshift shield to examine my soul. Gods I wish he would stop looking at me like that.

"It doesn't suit you."

Because of him. He's the reason I'm here right now. I could have sent him away, just walked away like that night on the plains and let Barret handle it. Life would have gone on as it always has.

How could I have been so stupid? I let myself rush right down the path I promised to avoid from the beginning. I'm practically giving him back to Shinra, putting him right where he's most likely to die.

I-I'm doing my old job again. He's going to follow Zack's footsteps no matter how hard I try to prevent it.

And, he's going to die just like Zack did.

"Still not going to talk to me eh?" He removes his hand from my shoulder and paces back and forth along the boards, scratching his chin as though this is the most interesting challenge he's ever been faced with. "There's got to be something you want to talk about."

There are many things we could talk about. None though that will draw that single phrase from the back of my mind. Once with Shinra, always with Shinra.

I need to get away from here. Away from the thoughts. Away from the memories. Away from the tension in the air. Just leave everything behind and go. Screw Shinra and its ability to nip at a person's soul to the point it drives them insane.

Tseng once said that when the job gets too stressful, the best thing to do it to just get away from it for a while. Give _yourself_ room to think. Return when _you're _ready to return.

I draw away from the rail with a thoughtful glance towards Cloud, who's still pacing and no doubt trying to think of something to say to make conversation. He tries too hard, just like Zack.

"How about we just go for a quiet walk."

There's that confused look again, as though I've just said something in a completely foreign language. With a sigh, I draw my cloak across my shoulders and trudge past him into the gritty streets of Sector Seven.

"Mind if I tag along?"

Not really. Even if I tried to tell you to go back to Tifa right now, you wouldn't anyway. Zack never did what I told him. Why should I expect Cloud to? With a silent nod, I make a left, heading up towards Johnny's house to catch the street leading through the back alley which will eventually take me to Sector Eight should I choose to go that far in my travels. Given the circumstances, I just might.

The lopsided jog of leather boots over crushed cement fills the air behind me, Cloud attempting to catch up. Out of pity, and because my leg is starting to bother me already this morning, I slow my pace and walk alongside him.

"So, ah, what exactly do you in AVALANCHE?"

An innocent enough question. He deserves to know exactly what he's going to be doing at least. I gesture to the mako lanterns flickering with the morning light.

"We try to topple a monopolizing mega-corporation hell bent on murdering the planet for the purpose of making billions of gil and our lives miserable, all in the name of the planet. We're kinda the protectors of the planet in a way, though, Shinra doesn't see us like that. To them, we're eco-terrorists."

It's not quite the Barret 'Those goddamn Shinra bastards are sucking the life out of the planet' speech, but he'll no doubt get that later pending he survives the first mission and decides to stick with us. Impressing Barret enough to qualify for the speech is something only he can do.

He runs a hand through his scruffy blond hair and continues to study me. What did I say now that is so confusing?

"No," he smirks, arriving at some conclusion in that mako saturated mind of his. "What do _you_ do in AVALANCHE?"

I stop, glancing towards him once again as a stray cat saunters by, tail erect and mewing about something. Cloud wants to know what I do for AVALANCHE? Guess there's no harm in mentioning it. He'll find out sooner or later anyway.

"Oh. Well, I'm kinda sorta like AVALANCHE's technology advisor. I get the inside information from Shinra itself without them even knowing I'm watching them and then pass it on to Barret and the boys who decide that to do with it."

"Ah, a hacker eh? Bet Shinra's always out to get you then. Zack once mentioned that nothing pissed off the Turks more than someone trying to hack the system. And here I'm walking with one who actually managed to do it without getting caught. I bet she's frustrated as hell trying to figure out where you're working from and how you do it. Few things get by the Turks."

Just like that, he finds a way to ruin a perfectly good walk by bringing the past into this without knowing it. I can't even get away from this when I try to. Cloud seems oblivious as he strides on ahead of me, hands clasped behind his neck at that awkward angle that makes him so damn interesting. "You still really do remind me of her."

"There's a difference between a Turk and a terrorist," I flatly respond, taking the lead without meeting his eyes. "That difference is Shinra. Neither can coexist with the other without someone getting killed. One fights to stay alive, the other fights to kill. It's the way things are and always will be."

Cissnei wants to murder Jessie for trying to destroy everything she's fought so hard to protect for years, while Jessie wants to get rid of Cissnei for being so blind to what that same corporation has done to the people down here. It's like trying to live two different lives with two different personalities. A Turk and a terrorist in the same body. I can't survive in both worlds. I have to become either one or the other. Cissnei, or Jessie. Sooner or later, one of them will win, and whoever it is, is who I'll end up being for the rest of my life, even if I don't like it.

"That's not always true," Cloud places a hand upon my shoulder and stops walking. "I've seen moments where Turks have become terrorists and terrorists have become Turks. If only for a precious few moments, those worlds crossed, and no one got killed. She let us go when she could have easily taken us both back to Shinra as ordered and did her job. You ended up stepping into a dangerous brawl and standing up to Barret when you could have walked away. Perhaps they aren't so different after all."

Not so different after all…

The chill air creeps across my back as I look towards the endless street weaving around the dilapidated buildings and crooked signposts. Those same buildings aren't that different from the life up there, above the metal ceiling. People still live here, just like up there. They both rush to catch trains to nowhere, try to make a decent living at what they do. Two different worlds, maybe not so different after all.

"Cloud, why did you really join AVALANCHE?"

He stands closer, hand still upon my shoulder, those eyes full of honesty.

"Because I wanted to repay you for what you did, just like Zack wanted to repay her. He wanted to make it home, to start a new life as a mercenary until he got back on his feet. He wanted to show her that she made a difference by making the choice she did that night. But he never got the chance, and I don't know what happened to her to tell her. For all I know, Shinra probably killed her because of us. This is my way of saying I'm sorry. I don't want to see anyone else who's helped me get killed."

He doesn't want to see anyone else killed because of him…

"Is that why you said you were a mercenary? An exSOLDIER?"

"It was the only thing I could think of at the time that made sense." A thoughtful look crosses his face. "Does that bother you Jessie? The fact that I worked for Shinra?"

In a way, yes. But in that same sense, it feels good to have someone who is on familiar grounds like I am, even if I cannot tell him who I really am. I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders with a light shiver at the cold seeping from Sector Eight's blocked rusted archway.

"A little. But, we'll get over it. Sooner or later, Barret will come around and respect the fact that you're with us, and on our side. He's not a bad person at all. In AVALANCHE, respect is something earned, not required."

He draws me closer, draping his arm over my shoulder as we begin walking back to Seventh Heaven.

"I'll earn it. Just you wait and see. Nothing's going to happen to you on these dangerous missions. I promise I'll protect you."

Heh, a knight in shining armor. Wasn't expecting something like that. If only it was as easy as that. Who knows what we're going to encounter in that reactor that may or may not killed us all.

"You should smile more often. It suits you better."

I'll try to remember that Cloud.

At the intersection of fallen scrap heaps and rust colored houses by Seventh Heaven, I remove his arm from my shoulder and once again walk in the lead. I can't risk Tifa, or any of the others getting the wrong idea about us. It's called damage control, and being a former Turk, I'm quite good at it. Eliminate the problems before they begin. Rumors are the last thing I need right now.

The bar is empty right now, meaning Tifa must be tending to Marlene and the boys must be out messing with that finicky furnace out back. They've been fighting with that thing for the better part of a month now, either making this place into an icebox or turning it into a sauna. There just isn't a happy medium for that thing and there probably never will be.

With a sigh, I hang my cloak on the rack and take a seat at my usual table, where I can see the world outside and watch the happenings of everyday life. Cloud chooses to sit next to me, no doubt trying to figure out why I find this particular region of the bar so interesting. He too damn curious about everything sometimes.

Just like Zack. He's too much like Zack. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I drum my fingers against the surface of the table in deep thought, trying to push the raven haired SOLDIER from my mind. Cloud's my responsibility now. But how can I protect him when I've got to worry about everyone else too. This mission is going to be tough, especially with the code breaking and keeping everyone from getting caught in the explosion. Worse yet, Barret will be keeping a hawk's watch as it is on Cloud, and knowing that infantryman like I do, he'll no doubt get himself into some sort of trouble. Hell, he doesn't even have a weapon to defend himself.

A weapon to defend himself. Maybe I don't have to be the one to protect him after all.

"Cloud, stay here. I'll be right back."

Picking my way around the chairs and tables, I locate the lowest shelf in the pantry, moving the tins of flour and molasses out of the way to locate the one item I never thought I would be willingly seeking.

My fingers brush the frigid steel through the coarse piece of cloth wrapped around its blade. For the first time, its rippled surface does not scald my fingers with its foreboding warning, or that nervous chill possessed by the spirits of the undead linger upon the air. Instead, a strange warmth radiates from the black blade stained with blood and soot, marred by those who sought the lives of the its two wielders.

Zack would have wanted it to be this way.

The heavy blade balanced across my arms, I make my way carefully back to where Cloud is sitting, gently setting the blade across the table.

"He would have wanted you to have this."

A single tear carves its way down the side of the infantryman's face, his fingers tracing the grooves and ripples of the blade's dark surface. No words need spoken.

This time, things will be different.


	40. In Forty Eight Hours

**Hey folks! Another update is here for ya'll. It's not huge on action yet (This one is more of a semi-boring reflective chapter). The action will follow soon. Promise. I hope you enjoy it none the less. (And yes Dis, the Muse appreciates the offering of cookies to the cause. Lol.)**

**Chapter Forty - In Forty Eight Hours…**

There's something about calendars that make normally coherent, sane, semi-intelligent men and women turn into complete idiots. For years I have pondered just what it is about those tiny black ink boxes arranged in a much bigger box with tiny numbers sketched into the top of each left hand corner that people find so alluring. They are, after all, just that - numbers representing days, grouped together to shows weeks, which eventually all depict what is supposed to be a month. Twelve pieces of paper strung together to be a year.

Truth be told, I don't give a damn about calendars or their stupid numbers. I never have. When you've lead the sort of life I've been 'privileged' to, you develop this sort of mellow attitude towards them. Those days on the calendar mean nothing to the typical Turk. We're more worried about surviving today than something that might happen in a few days. After all, there was no promise of any of us actually reaching those other boxes beyond the one we were currently standing in. At any moment, something could happen and take away everything. That's why none of us, aside from Tseng, even owned one of those useless pieces of paper.

Live for today, never tomorrow. A rule each of us took to heart.

But standing here in the basement, staring at the tattered remnants of the current month tacked beside the map of Midgar, it's a little hard not to get caught up in the excitement. In less than forty eight hours, we'll be standing in that box circled by my own hand in heavy ink pen, with my own scripted handwriting explaining just why it deserves to be circled to begin with. In forty eight hours, we'll be taking down a major pillar of the Shinra Empire and officially bring AVALANCHE out of the ashes.

You can do a lot in forty eight hours I've discovered.

Wedge sits outside on his rocking chair, watching the people walk by from the porch, a block of wood in one hand, pocket knife in the other. He's trying to make Marlene a wooden moogle figurine to play with. So far today, she has ten of them, all in different poses and wearing different clothing with different expressions on their little faces. The detail on each one is incredible, from the pompom above their heads to their little paws. No two are alike.

Rude used to do the same thing before a big mission. He'd get out his whittling kit, scrounge up some blocks of wood, and sit quietly in a corner somewhere, meticulously scraping layer by layer of wood away until the wooden block became something interesting. It was one of those things only his comrades knew about. After all, a big, tough man like Rude is not someone you would expect to be able to put such tiny details into every little figurine without breaking it.

I don't think there is anyone on the Department of Administrative Research floor who does not have one of Rude's infamous creations. Even Commander Veld had several he kept on a shelf behind his desk - most of them chocobo in nature. Tseng had a personal preference for tonberrys, while Reno and I had inherited a slew of moomba shaped ones. I can only imagine what kind Elena will be getting for her office. If she's anything like her older sister was, Rude will no doubt be making a group of cactuars. Don't ask me why he might choose something like that. Only he knows and some questions you just don't bother asking.

It was always the little things that we did to prepare ourselves for those caliber of missions we might never return from that made us more than ready for them. By completing those little details that bind together out everyday lives and getting them out of the way to some degree of completion, we were able to focus solely on the mission at hand. After all, our personal lives were completed and everything was in order - just in case we never made it home.

The scrap pieces of filed plastic and metal click together as I rearrange them across the surface of the reactor plans. It feels like just yesterday that I sat down and began fitting those pieces together to form a contraption small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, yet packing enough power to destroy a reactor. Watching the digital timer count down to zero and the resulting sparks cast from the meticulously twisted wires makes this all too real.

I'm a traitor. There is no debate to that now. Once I fill the ammunition chamber with the two highly reactive powders, and seal the cover into place once and for all, it will be done.

There will be no going back.

And should this actually work in our favor, there will no doubt be a second phase to our attack. The quicker we strike, the better off we'll be in the long run. It feels like I'm boarding a runaway train to nowhere, this being the first of many platforms I've got the tickets for. Might as well use them while I have the chance.

"Hey Jessie!" Biggs practically whistles from the floor above, peering down with that impish smirk crossing his sooty face. He's been out messing with that furnace again and by the looks of it, the furnace won. "Wanna take a break from that for a little while?"

A break eh? The very concept sounds odd at this stage of the game. It's not like I'm actually doing anything constructive enough to warrant a break at the moment. There is not a whole hell of a lot of thought involved in testing a bomb to calibrate it to the exact power that it needs to be so that it doesn't fail during that mission. That might not be a very good thing to have to explain to Barret, who I'm finally back on speaking grounds with. Still, the idea of taking a few minutes away from this couldn't hurt.

"Sure Biggs. Just let me finish this up real quick."

Disconnecting the wires to ensure that they won't do anything while I'm not supervising the tests, I manage to pick my way across the cluttered room towards the lift, soon joining him on the first floor of the bar. It's one of those mellow in-between hours in the morning, the drunkards virtually nonexistent. I couldn't ask for anything better this close to a mission.

Much to my surprise, Biggs is already seated at my usual table, fingers toying with a tiny white knight as he arranges the pieces to their rightful spots. From the looks of the smudges of soot across his cheek, he's managed to attempt to wipe the furnace's residue from his face and onto the already soot saturated shirt messily adorning his upper body. With a wink, he points to the chessboard and leans his chair back slightly.

"You ever play chess?"

Chess? I would never have pegged someone like Biggs to be a fan of the strategy game. Of course I've played before. It was one of the few staples in a Turk's life that kept us all from plummeting into insanity and kept us sharp mentally. Some of my fondest memories and best plans have been created over spending long hours before a mission at that cherry wood table in the lounge, facing off against whichever of the boys chose to play against me.

Reno was an absolute genius at chess.

It didn't matter where the pieces were on the board, he could find a way to make them work in a fairly time efficient manner, simply devastating his opponents before they even moved one piece. Unlike his usual tirades of vulgarity that brought out the brutish nature and intelligence of a caveman carrying a club most people associated him to be, chess was always a quiet affair when he played. For hours, we would merely sit, patiently studying one another in attempt to figure out the next move before it could be made.

But when either one of us did move our pieces, absolute chaos broke loose with knights, rooks, pawns, bishops, kings, and queens being torn asunder and checked left and right. Tseng often said that if Reno put half as much thought into his job and appearance as he did chess, he would be the leader instead. A frightening thought to all of us.

Rude had his whittling. Reno and I had our chess games. It felt as though when we were sitting there, completely focused on trying to win the battle against one another, the world had stopped turning to allow us to finish. Whatever mission followed paled in comparison to our little game.

Often times, Tseng would merely watch the spectacle in vague amusement while sipping his coffee from a safe distance. Although he never mentioned it, you could almost see the sense of pride in those dark hazel eyes with each round we played.

I take a seat across from Biggs with a soft smile. Simply sitting here with the board in front of me brings back fond memories. He reaches forward and moves a piece forward.

"So, you think we're gonna be able to pull this off?"

I take a brief count of my potential options towards victory. Of course I don't think we can pull this off. We are five people trying to blow up a reactor for Holy's sake. Our odds of success are about one in a million and that's rounding up. Slightly less than a snowball's chance in Hades if you want to get technical about it.

So naturally, my response is fairly simple and a little more upbeat and enthusiastic than it should be.

"If all goes according to plan, everything should be okay." My fingers push the pseudo-ivory piece forward a space. In Turk terms, if you hear the word 'okay' used in a sentence paired with 'should be', expect a thorough ass kicking to follow shortly and hope your life insurance is paid up so Tseng has less paperwork to file. "I've been running timing tests on the bomb for the better part of the morning and everything looks good. Providing whomever is elected to set the bomb at the actual reactor does it right, we should be in, out, and on our way before Shinra even knows we were there."

Biggs smiles and runs a hand through his scruffy hair, pondering his next move.

"Barret will be happy to hear that at the last minute briefing. He's been a basket case all week about this one."

And he has every right to be. Should any portion of this plan fail, he won't get to see his daughter again. Which is where he is choosing to spend his time prior to this mission - outside with Marlene. From the brief streak of clarity in the foggy window wiped away by a hand, I can see them by the crooked street sign from here, laughing and horsing around as though the bombing of Shinra Reactor One is nothing more than a myth passed down as a fairy tale.

I, personally, can think of no better way to spend what very well could be our last hours on Gaia. Despite the upbeat excitement that box on the calendar represents, the well grounded reality and worry lingers on all of our minds, waiting for that one moment of weakness to allow us to second guess our parts in this plan.

In forty eight hours, one learns to forget about the past and embraces the present. Sins are forgiven, anger is quelled, and respect is reinstated as though no arguments had even occurred.

None of us want to have any regrets before we go.

"What're your thoughts on this Cloud fellow Jessie?" Biggs inquires casually, picking his way across the board with a knight. Cloud. Poor innocent Cloud. The concept is still difficult to grasp. He's serving as a mercenary for us. I have to keep reminding myself of that. There is no casual friendship between us. There can't be. "You think he'll help us any?"

Probably not. If anything, he'll be one more obstacle we have to watch out for. Infantrymen don't usually make good SOLDIERs, real or imaginary. I keep half expecting to see Zack standing there with the Buster Sword in hand, but instead, I'm brutally reminded that Cloud is not Zack and never will be.

"I don't know yet Biggs." My rook takes out one of his pawns in a perfect check. "Anything could happen with him."

I have a bad feeling about this. Something that nips at the back of my mind, telling me that something else is going on that I'm still missing. Something deathly important.

"He seems a little odd for an exSOLDIER First Class. Dunno exactly what it is about him, but he doesn't seem very SOLDIER-like. Sure he's got the eyes and possibly some of the muscle to back it up, but he ain't anything like the guys that stormed Wutai."

Damn, there went a perfectly good knight. I maneuver my rook back in place to tackle another one of his pawns. This battle isn't over yet.

"Well, stranger things have happened," I add, taking stock of my options once again. Hmmm. If I move that way, I'll have him pinned with no place to go. "Guess we won't know until the actual mission."

I need to change the subject before I get too distracted. Mission first, emotions later. Okay, there we go.

"He really seems to have taken a liking to you. And it's not the sort of 'Hey, let's be friends' sort of liking either." He winks and tips the chair back even more. "I'm talking about the 'Hey baby, how 'bout you and me go to Wall Market for a night on the town' sort of liking if ya get my drift."

And I land my piece one square short, effectively ruining a perfectly good strategy. What in the hell Biggs? Cloud and I are not like that! We're acquaintances, nothing more. Oh I wish I had Rekka with me right now. Someone would be needing a phoenix down for making such an accusation.

Time to attempt to repair the damage before it gets out of hand.

"We're not-"

"Aha, I see you blushing."

I'm not blushing! I'm furiously pissed off at you right now! There is a huge difference.

"It's not like that at all! We're just friends. Besides," I select my next chess piece to go after his king. "He's more Tifa's type anyway."

Yeah. And I'm not far off. After presenting him with the Buster Sword, he seemingly slipped back into his mako induced mind, spending several hours sitting solitary in the far corner with a polishing rag, attempting to restore it to its former glory like a man possessed by it. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It's rightfully Cloud's sword to do as he pleases with it. Zack would have wanted it that way and that's how it's going to be regardless of how uneasy the concept is to me.

The problem lies in not knowing exactly where he ran off to. Both he and Tifa went for a little 'walk' earlier today and aren't back yet. The Turk part of me tells me not to worry about him, but at the same time, the worry of if anything might have happened to him still plays on my mind. Regardless of who he's with, it's my duty to ensure that he doesn't die before this upcoming mission.

"A little quick to answer there Jess," he wolf whistles mockingly. That's it. I'm gonna kill him. "Sounds like _someone's_ got jealousy issues."

I am not jealous of Tifa you blockhead. What she chooses to do with Cloud is none of my business, nor do I wish to make it my business. In all honesty, Shinra watchdogs do not give a damn about entering the dating world. We're so piss poor at it that it's almost painful to watch.

I need to get control of my emotions. Cloud will be fine. He's a grown man more than capable of taking care of himself and those around him. And Tifa's with him. Should they encounter anything capable of inflicting injury it will be dealt with accordingly. He doesn't need me to hover over his shoulders constantly, fending off bad guys.

There, I said it. He can take care of himself without my help. Zack will keep him out of trouble as well. I just have to believe it to be that way. Cloud doesn't need my help anymore.

Gods reality sucks worse than Shinra's newscast.

"Ha!" he points that accusing finger at me with one eye closed and lip curled into a smirk. "Knew it. You _do_ like him! I've seen the way he looks at you. That's a love triangle just waiting to happen."

This is not my day. Since when did chess manage to become a game involving my love life, or rather, lack of one? I miss Reno. He just kept his mouth shut and played his pieces.

"Biggs-" I warn, the watchdog within me sensing that this is about to get ugly quickly.

"You really oughta pursue him Jess. I'm serious. Good looking, exSOLDIER, a heartthrob amongst the ladies, muscles that could probably strange a chocobo-"

"Biggs…" Again, the warning falls on deaf ears. I don't consider strangling chocobos romantic in the least.

"With an Apollo-like complexion that would make any woman swoon. I'd say this is probably as best as you're gonna find down here in the slums. Those upper plate people don't wanna date us type of folk. And since Tifa spends most of her free time with that Johnny fellow-"

I slam my fist upon the table with a scowl.

"Will you shut the hell up and let me talk?" Why am I letting this guy get to me? They're only words, I try to remind myself. And this is Biggs, a lesser grade version of Reno I'm receiving unwanted dating advice from. Ignore him and he will go away. "There is nothing between Cloud and I aside from being acquaintances. That's how it is going to stay. Got that?"

Great, now he's got that shit-eating grin of his across his face. That's never a good thing.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Admit it. You like having him around here just as much as Tifa does. You don't think we guys notice the looks between the three of you? That Cloud fellow is _definitely_ checking you out and trying to get closer to you."

I sigh, gritting my teeth to prevent myself from turning Biggs into an ice cube with the Blizzaga I have in my pocket. Cloud and I are not lovers. So he's charming in his own sort of way and maybe even a little bit handsome-

No, I try to push that thought from my mind. I don't like him that way. I have standards, few of which he meets at the moment. Damn it Biggs. Now you've got me flustered to the point I can't even think my way out of this without thinking about _him_.

Turks don't have those kind of relationships, I try to remind myself of the fact. It would never work out even if it was possible. We're just too damn different. And what does Biggs know anyway? He almost shot Cloud when they first encountered one another.

Wonder how much the betting pool is up too nowadays.

Yes, in forty eight hours, those same hours can turn into an eternity. I hate calendars.

"You've fallen for him," an impish twinkle resides in those eyes. "You're just too damn stubborn to realize it yet."

I flick his king across the board.

Checkmate.


	41. The Weakest Link

**Whoa, this chapter wrote fast - literally. The Muse is so enthralled by all of the deserts she's been getting thanks to you reviewers, the fact that this story now has over 7,000 hits, and the Demonic Wolf Puppy donated so generously by City of Dis that we've called Kiba, that she has literally put her other fics on the backburner until she finishes this one. : ) I just hope it's up to par for ya'll. Enjoy folks! Also folks, there is a new poll up (I give credit to ****eolhcsullivan452**** for the idea.) Feel free to vote in it when you get the chance. **

**Chapter Forty One - The Weakest Link**

To the conductor of the Sector Seven train platform, the seven of us gathered beneath the dying light of the lone street lamp have nothing in common. In his eyes, we are completely innocent passengers, simply waiting for the opportunity to board the 11:15 Sector One Line to go about our business. There's no way to predict that in less than an hour, a reactor is going to explode and Shinra is going to be reporting of a terrorist attack for which AVALANCHE claims full responsibility.

Wedge shifts his feet nervously, checking his wristwatch, trying to look irritated and impatient at the train's ability to run a full five minutes late. He's _supposed_ to be on his way back to his wife after a night of drinking at the bar with the boys and judging by the look on his face, he's going to end up getting screamed at for his antics and for being drunk. His acting skills are better than we could have hoped for despite the fact that the only drinking he's done has been a cup of straight black coffee.

Barret on the other hand, is standing a good distance away, discussing something with Tifa and hugging a very sleepy Marlene goodbye. Poor kid won't remember any of this when she wakes up tomorrow morning, but for now, it gives the perfect heartfelt impression that our fearless leader is leaving his family behind on a 'business' trip to somewhere in Sector One. Every one of us knows that what he and Tifa are discussing involves protocol should something go wrong and we don't get back after our mission.

It's a morbid thought that lingers over each of us like a thick, frigid fog. A necessary evil that we all must be aware of before we set one foot on that train to damnation we have tickets in hand for. That slim 'what if' mentality that we might not be successful in surviving this.

Biggs leans against the lamp pole, cigarette in hand, watching the frost condensate against the metal surfaces as the evening temperature begins to drop and the smoke drifts towards the insulating metal sky in a lazy wisp. Tonight, he's playing the roll of the wanderer, choosing to go wherever the late train goes. He makes a good wanderer with that rugged sense of nonchalant boredom behind his eyes and the way he studies the platform's inhabitants as though they are insignificant to his personal agenda. The hint of a smirk tugs at his lips when he sees Cloud occupying the opposite bench, tapping the Buster Sword's point against the unforgiving cement in what appears to be deep thought.

Holy only knows what he's thinking about our resident mercenary dressed and acting the part of a SOLDIER First Class. And at this point, maybe I don't want to know. Biggs's mind is not someplace I would even dare to even attempt to tread even if it was the last mission available to me and my life depended on it. Some mysteries just don't need to be solved. How men like him think is one of them.

A hand touches my shoulder, our resident wanderer draping his arm around my neck as he sits down a little too close for comfort. Great. I've somehow managed to land right in the center of a testosterone storm brewing between these two and Biggs just won't let it go. Apparently nothing I said the other day had any impact on his actions. Does he even realize that this mission could be jeopardized by the wrong words? Worse yet, is the half glare Cloud seems to be giving my comrade and the noticeably harsher grating of the Buster Sword being scraped across the cement are making this much worse.

Mountain goats. They act like a pair of territorial mountain goats about to butt heads sometimes.

Giving Biggs's arm a gentle shake from my shoulder, I skirt further down the bench to where Wedge is sitting with a disapproving look towards the scoundrel wanderer. Everyone in AVALANCHE knows that you just do not touch me this close to a mission, especially with who I am supposed to be and where I am going on this train. I could technically break Biggs's arm and get away without it looking remotely suspicious, not that the idea has crossed my mind lately.

As far as Mr. Conductor is aware, my ID card and mission orders are perfectly legit. And since this train does not yet employ the facial recognition security software for another twelve-twenty four hours yet, none of us are going to get caught this round when they scan us and our backgrounds. Being a former Turk capable of hacking the mission orders and security databases and riddling them with enough glitches to stall for time does have its perks.

Better yet is the fact that no one actually _knows_ how to do my old job, so, in a nutshell, in order to get away with this whole scheme, all I have to do is survive this mission, get back to Seventh Heaven, and delete my phony mission orders from the database before Tseng wakes up and checks his e-mail. One of my more cut and dry missions.

Tonight, I am officially Cissnei, a rather miserable Turk on her way back from being stationed at the Mithril Mines where a top secret, albeit frustratingly involved investigation about the Midgar Zolom prowling the area had been talking place. There is a perfectly good explanation as to why I am carrying a rucksack over one shoulder and not wearing my blazer and usual attire, boarding the train at this particular station at this hour, but if anyone were to ask, I'd probably have to kill them. 'Orders from the boss' ya know. Therefore, no one is going to be asking questions about why _I'm_ headed to Sector One tonight.

The rattling of the train's mako fueled engine revolving through the confining tunnel from the upper plate make the platform tremble slightly and the light flicker. Looks like our mission is about to begin. I gather my rucksack with a casual look about me, ignoring my comrades as the train rattles to a halt, the conductor prying the door open to allow the inner light of the rail car to spill out onto the dreary cement in forked lines.

"Last train to Sector One now boarding," he announces in his less-than-enthused love of the job tone. Perfect. From what I can see, we're going to be the only passengers this round. That'll make Barret happy at least.

Ten minutes later, the five of us attempting the impossible are settled into coach car three and the conductor has long since written us off as non-threatening. Well, as non-threatening as a Turk can possibly be. Guess he figures that if AVALANCHE does show up on his shift, I'll be more than willing to offer my assistance in handling the matter.

Ah the irony of it all.

"How you holding up Jessie?" Barret takes a seat across from me, momentarily drawing my attention away from the lights streaking by like tiny fireflies as the train rattles through the slums.

"Decent," I reply. Maybe it's the adrenaline rush of anticipating what we're going to encounter once we arrive that has me feeling a little jittery about this whole set up. Things are, dare I even consider it, moving a little too much like clockwork for my liking. It's not that I'm scared or anything. It's only a highly radioactive mako reactor we're about to destroy. No sweat. Still, I cannot prevent that tiny sliver of worry that lingers along the fringe of my confident nature that has taken up residence.

What if Cloud screws this up?

I know I sound a little harsh, but it is true. In every mission team there is a weak link who, pending the right circumstances, has the ability to make even the simplest missions go to hell pretty quickly. As difficult as it is to admit, our weakest link is currently sitting by the window closer to the exit, looking a little on the pale side, the Buster Sword seemingly serving as an anchor to the constantly shifting world around us.

SOLDER First Class Zackary Fair he is not.

"Barret, would you excuse me for a few minutes?" His dark eyes rove over the bench towards the infantryman slumped against the window. There's that look again. Just like Tseng's when I've screwed something up beyond repair and did not heed valuable advice when it was offered. In this case, they're trying to tell me I made a poor judgment call on our resident mercenary.

Without a word of response from our leader, I trudge towards him, ignoring the snickers of Biggs and sympathetic look from Wedge at my actions. It was made very clear that Cloud was my responsibility from the beginning of this fiasco. I'll be damned if I let anything happen to him now.

He looks miserable, eyes caught somewhere in this sort of mystified trance while the lack of mercy of the train's movement makes his body sway against the seat, adding to his misfortune.

"I hate moving objects." The very effort at verbal words makes him turn a shade paler, his fingers clutching the hilt of the Buster Sword tighter. Poor guy. Motion sickness is no fun. That much I can attest too.

This must be what Zack meant when he made mention to trying to find alternative routes of travel that did not involve moving objects when he was to be paired with Cloud on various missions. Tseng had made vague reference about it to the rest of us as well, that under no circumstances should certain members of the Shinra military be allowed to even travel beyond the front desk, much lest carry weapons while riding in moving jeeps or riding in helicopters.

I take a sympathetic seat beside him and draw the window blind down to block out the moving blurs of light beyond.

"We'll be there soon enough. Just try to think of something not moving. Pretend your walking there and not riding on a train."

He groans and rests his head against the window, giving me this look of absolute dread.

"Easy for you to say. You're not feeling like the entire Midgarian gymnastics team is practicing their routine in your stomach and scoring nothing close to perfect tens either."

"Not exactly true." I take my cloak off of my shoulders and drape it across him, allowing him to rest his head against my shoulder. "I can't even look at a boat or car without getting motion sick myself."

Traveling to Costa Del Sol to keep tabs on Zack was absolute hell. All that rocking, swaying, ugh, the very memory makes me queasy. On those missions, Tseng always knew better than to even bother me once I managed to get to my quarters and virtually lock myself away until the ship arrived at its destination. Those damn anti-motion sickness pills Shinra prescribed actually made it worse more times than not.

"Really?" he asks, a little surprised at the revelation.

"Yeah." Biggs seems intrigued from his spot close by, but looks away as I manage a well timed glare of warning in his direction. I do not even want to hear it. Cloud's not feeling well and one of the best ways to help him get through this is to get his mind off of the problem at hand. "I think I'd much rather breed golden chocobos to travel with than set foot on a ship or in a car."

A faint, half-hearted smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You don't seem the type to get motion sick like that."

"Trains don't bother me as much as they once did. It's an acquired thing I suppose." The clock on the wall reads closer to midnight. We should be passing through Sector Eight right about now. "I've found that picking out one object to watch instead of trying to watch everything at once really helps train your mind and body not to react to movement in a way that makes you feel sick."

It's probably not much help to him at the moment, but it is the best I can do given the circumstances. He shifts his weight with a defeated sigh.

"I'll have to try that. No matter how hard I try, I just don't like riding in vehicles. Never did."

"It takes time to overcome, but it's not impossible. Sooner or later, you'll be able to handle even the worse train rides without a problem."

He doesn't seem as pale as he was a few minutes ago at least. That's a good sign. Perhaps just getting his mind off of it is doing some good for him. I can hardly wait to hear Barret's lecture on allowing motion sick exSOLDIERs to run with our little pack. Something tells me I'm not going to like it.

Just try to feel better Cloud, please. Our lives depend on this mission.

With a half hearted smile, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. He'll probably feel a lot better when he wakes up, but for now, sleep is probably the best thing for him. We've got some time yet anyway before we have to really think about moving.

There's that look again. Our fearless leader's scrutinizing my way of handling a potential crisis. I didn't see him offer to assist our resident mercenary in his time of need. God forbid Biggs and Wedge would have even attempted it. Poor Cloud might have jumped off of the train at whatever they might have suggested for dealing with feeling ill at this moment.

Sometimes I feel like I'm just too damn nice about things like this.

"Approaching Sector One Station. Estimated arrival time 11:45 Shinra Time."

Barret stands up before the automated feminine voice can finish the remaining details of the route, a movement that means that the mission is about to start. I gently shake Cloud's shoulder until he awakens.

"Alright everyone, listen up and pay attention, 'cause I ain't gonna say it twice." He taps his foot against the floorboards as we all give him our undivided, or rather what little of it we do have, attention, to him for any last minute details. "This is big. Really big. Don't ya'll go gettin' yourselves killed out there, 'cause if ya do, I'm gonna have to go to hell, drag yer sorry asses back and kill ya myself. Got that?"

Oh, we got it alright, judging by the serious looks upon all of our faces.

"Yes sir." The four of us respond.

"Give me the plan again so I know ya'll know how this is gonna work."

Biggs stands up and points to the door.

"Me an Jessie'll handle the first set of guards and get to the gates where we wait for you, Wedge, and Cloud to catch up. Anything after those first few guards you'll take care of."

"Damn straight. After that?"

Cloud's got this sort of interested look in his eyes at the idea of Biggs and I being in charge of dispatching the initial set of guards and starting the mission off. Any sort of failure to reach the gates will be on our heads, so, we have good incentive to not screw this up.

"We use a series of pass codes to enter the reactor, where you'll take the bomb and set it," I explain. "After that, we'll have ten minutes to retreat to an exit tunnel located to the western side from where we enter, and from there, we catch the train back to Sector Seven."

For security sake, I've divided our pass codes between Biggs and I, so that if something does happen, one person won't have all of the codes. It makes it a lot more efficient as well.

"That's how it's gonna work. Got it?"

Again, four nods of agreement.

"Good. Alright. Let's do this!"

If only he was as confident as he sounded right about now. I hand the rucksack containing the bomb to Wedge for safekeeping and pick my way towards the doorway. The train hitches and begins its reduction of speed towards the station.

Here's to hoping we're not making a horrible mistake.


	42. Into Enemy Territory

**Well, here is probably the longest chapter you're ever going to see me write in a single setting. (Offers the poor Muse an oatmeal cookie only to have her stab me with a spork for my efforts). Okay then. Can't say I didn't try to make her break it up a little (She tried but couldn't do it without looking like an idiot) :Dodges spork: Anyway folks, welcome back for the next chapter and yes, I did take some, well, maybe a lot in parts, liberties in this particular portion of this fic (No matter how hard she tried, the Muse just could not bring herself to make certain parts of these scenes as boring and simplistic as the game had it.) :cowers: Please don't eat me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and in the future, chapters probably won't ever be this long again. :Pokes a weary Muse with a stick and gets growled at:**

**A/N: There is a lot of swearing in this chapter. You've been warned.**

**Chapter Forty Two - Into Enemy Territory**

There are two of them, just as I suspected. Pacing across the platform with their attentive, ground covering strides, wearing polished leather boots, with brass buttons and crimson satin suits to compliment the ridiculous red helmet-like hats protecting their heads. The supposable 'elite' branch of the Shinra infantry, the drill sergeant.

In Scarlet's dreams maybe.

Let's see if Tseng's words about each of his Turks being worth one hundred of hers holds any ground in this scenario. I crouch lower to the partially open door, listening to the hiss of the hydraulic brakes whistling through the air, the train slipping into a jerking motion the closer we get.

Biggs gives me this sort of odd, almost sinister smirk, rubbing his hands together and cracking his knuckles as he vanishes into the car up ahead. He's excited to do some skull smashing and I cannot say that the excitement is limited to him alone either. I can hear Wedge tapping his feet nervously as he makes his way across the boards towards the upper roof of the train for an attack from above, Cloud in tow. This is it. Whatever doubts we had can no longer exist.

It's time to show Shinra what a pack of strays can really do when provoked.

The platform flashes by, the train grinding to a less than subtle halt, pitching Barret forward a few steps. Biggs lunges forward like a Doberman, seizing the first of the drill sergeants by the arm and flipping him over, his startled cry and the sickening crack as his back collides with the unforgiving cement filling the quiet evening air.

Now it's my turn. The sergeant's eyes widen in surprise, his clumsy hands fumbling with the automatic rifle clutched in his hands at my swift approach. As if shooting at me is going to deter me. I don't even feel human anymore, my elbow driving into his sternum with enough force to do some serious damage despite his armor. The sickening crack of ribs soon follows, my left leg sweeping against his midsection, sending him careening against the side of the train and falling motionless like his comrade.

I don't even take a second look to see if I might have killed the guy. That's not how we Turks do things. You either kill them the first time or you don't. I personally, don't honestly want to know, but I'm almost certain I did.

None of that matters now. Focus. I need to focus on the mission at hand.

"You weren't kidding when you said you didn't need a gun to defend yourself. Where in the hell did you learn how to do something like that anyway?" Biggs pants, trying to keep a decent pace for the steel and brick reactor gates as the shouts of what appear to be reinforcements flood the alleyways to the north. Damn it. Cloud and them are going to have some unexpected company.

"Trust me," I scale one of the railings labeled with a caution sign, offering my comrade a hand of assistance. "You don't want to know."

I have those morning sparring sessions where more than a few bones got broken from getting the shit kicked out of my by Tseng to thank for that thank you very much. Not one of my prouder memories of my days with the Turks and certainly nothing my overconfident comrade needs to know about anytime soon.

The echo of gunfire rattles the area, sending my pulse racing. Shinra MPs.

"God almighty those guys got here quick," Wedge scrambles over the railing and hands the rucksack back to me. "Barret's probably having a fit right about now."

"Told you to expect this," I duck behind one of the walls as one of the overconfident MPs hurries by, automatic weapon at the ready. Shit. They're headed right for where I last saw Cloud. Not good.

"You didn't say this many this fast!"

A bullet ricochets off of the nearby bricked wall, sending shrapnel in all directions. Wedge slam his back against the wall beside me, gripping his revolver like his life depends upon it. I hold a hand up to tell him to not even attempt to fire.

"Over there! By the train!"

Their shouts carry through the alleyway and down the stairs to the station, Barret's lumbering form emerging from an offshoot to the alleyway, the look of murderous rage etched upon his face. Why does this have to be my fault again? I tried to warn them about this, but no one ever listens to the female who knows what she's talking about when she says that reinforcements are guaranteed to show up. _No one_.

"Jesus Christ, you all trying to get killed out here! Get yer asses moving before more show up!"

The click of his gun arm being prepped to fire fills the air, adding to that lingering sense of concern riding the back of my mind like it's some sort of pissed off chocobo jockey in a losing race.

Those are MPs. The simplest of infantrymen. They're the ones who murdered Zack by some weird strange twist of fate. I swing the rucksack over my shoulder with a worried look at the alleyway leading to the station. Cloud's not with us yet. Damn it this is not good.

"What about Cloud?" I dare to ask, knowing full well I run the risk of being shouted at for even thinking about such a thing at this moment. I'll take my chances.

"That's that goddamn spiky haired bastard's problem." Barret grumbles, charging off to the right alleyway in search of a way past the looming reactor entrance gate. "We gotta move!"

No shit. But wouldn't it make more sense to have everyone together first?

A second barrage of bullets hails the area, making me flinch. That doesn't sound good at all.

Come on Cloud. Please don't die on us yet. Prove to Barret you can do this. Survive. For once, don't be the infantryman. Be the SOLDIER you are not. Please. Don't die like Zack did.

"Come on Jessie!" Biggs grabs me by the wrist, jerking me towards the darker portion of the alleyway. I have no choice to follow, the echo of running boots filling the air behind us. God damn it son of a bitch. I'm getting to be as bad as Barret now.

The footfalls are gaining on us. A few seconds, maybe, I don't really know. All I know is that this place looks a lot different in person than it does on the diagram. Ah, lights up ahead. There's the gate. Let's see. Pass codes. This is that fifteen digit one.

"Persistent little bastards, aren't they?" Biggs raises the .45 and aims into the darkness behind him, practically forcing me behind him against the gate. I swear that if we survive this, I am so kicking his ass for that. I'm not the one who needs to be defended.

"Just worry more about that gate!" Wedge advises, his own gun raised and ready to fire at whatever is following us. Common sense says to deal with the threat first and then work on the gate. Stupid logic.

Okay, okay. I'll work on the gate. Even though I could be better utilized helping these two first and then getting the gate open.

The keypad flashes its red alluring light, proclaiming it officially locked down for the evening. We'll see about that. I swipe my ID card through the slot and watch the tiny letters flash across the screen. I'm going to have to override this when we get back to Seventh Heaven, but for now, it looks like my security clearance will at least get me to the input screen.

Success. The little light blinks, asking for the code. My fingers fly across the keypad, inputting number after number and watching the virtual locks engage with a rusty clack.

"Can you work any faster Jessie?" Biggs growls, finger on the trigger at the approaching shadow. He's just itching to fire that thing.

"You wanna put the codes in while I handle the gun?" His nervous shift of weight reaches my ears. "I didn't think so."

Key word of advice. Do not interrupt the watchdog when she is working on a delicate hacking operation. You're likely to get bitten. And if I get the wrong number in, every alarm in the city will sound and we'll be screwed even worse than we are right now. We don't need SOLDIERs of any level nipping at our heels at this moment. That part comes later.

Still, that lingering fear creeps towards us with the shadow that is approaching in a quieter, more composed stride. Wait. I've heard that stride before. Several times actually. Forward with just a slight bit of hesitation as he balances upon the balls of his feet.

"Don't shoot him," I growl. "That's Cloud!"

Biggs gives me a look as though I've finally lost my mind and looks back at the shadow emerging into the light. Wedge lowers his weapon in equal surprise.

"You don't know-" his words catch in his throat, the infantryman stepping towards us with the Buster Sword over his shoulder, a confident if not cocky smirk upon his face to match that rat's nest of blond hair poking everywhere in the dull mako light.

The keypad scrolls through the numbers to check them against the database as I chance a look at our resident mercenary. Holy, he must've fought those MPs, and judging from the look upon his face, it was remarkably easy. I was at least expecting him to be missing an arm or something.

Something's not right about this guy. He seems, different in some twisted way. That cannot be the same motion sick rookie I had to care for on the train. It just can't be.

"Whoa, you really were in SOLDIER." Biggs whispers in awe, a faint tremble in his hand as he lowers the gun away from Cloud. "Sorry about that."

Is that genuine hints of potential respect I hear in his tone? Or is he a little nervous at the fact that infantryman Cloud managed to take out two MPs who served at the same rank he once did? Still. He shouldn't be that strong. He's just can't be that strong.

It's almost as if-

"What in the hell did I tell ya'll about moving together in a group!" Our fearless leader bellows in frustration. "Our target's the North Mako Reactor! We'll meet on the bridge there!"

Actually Barret, you didn't say anything at all about us in a group. I try to hide my distaste for being shouted at, the door making its final check before the last lock engages. I sure hope the rest of them go quicker than this. If not, we might be in trouble.

Don't even think like that, I tell myself, trying once again to distance myself from the what ifs of this mission. Right now, deal with it like a Turk would. Just go on as if nothing detrimental to the mission can happen.

As if Cloud really did not take out those two MPs like a real SOLDIER would have.

The cobblestone brick maze of alleyways extends far beyond this gate, well beyond the vacant buildings where troops should be stationed. For being such a high security area, Shinra really needs to think about this some more. I begin jogging down the alleyways, constantly checking my surroundings should there be snipers on the buildings. You never can be too careful.

Ah, there is looms, the bastardized pride of Shinra, glancing out over its territory to strike all who dare disturb its planet-draining mission in life. Sides tinged with that familiar lucid greenish hue and the hideous out of place lettering reading that this is indeed Shinra Reactor One. Pity such an eyesore is going to be a whole new center of attention in a few minutes.

"So that's the mighty reactor?" Biggs whistles at the size of it and slows his pace to cover us as Wedge and I turn the corner where a rather insulting '**Warning'** sign flashes. As if anyone patrolling this area does not understand the dangers. Please. Save the lecture for someone who actually gives a damn.

I round the last corner, the sound of my comrades following a welcoming echo to the otherwise quiet evening.

Let's see. This panel involves a little more work. I swipe my card and bring up the usual input screen. Same glowing blue background as the first, only this time, there are a twin set of numbers that need to match up with a random code generated by headquarters and you need to pull one of the many levers to activate the door. No problem.

"So you really think this is going to work?"

"Of course it's gonna work!"

I wish they would be a little more subtle about this whole thing. Voices carry to listening ears ya know. Still. Quiet and AVALANCHE in the same sentence is an oxymoron to beat all oxymorons. The numbers appear upon the screen as I recall them from memory and grab the closest lever.

About time something worked out. The latch clicks, the door gliding open as though five terrorists set on blowing it up is perfectly commonplace around here. Two down, three to go.

"This is it," I warn, gesturing to the illuminated walkway beyond. "We need to be careful."

In all truth, this is where our mission is either won or lost. I watch Biggs hurry past, brow furrowed in concentration and .45 drawn to greet any unwelcome visitors that might ambush us. Just like before. He and I are the engagers in this little pack to find the quickest and easiest path to our destination. I can only hope Cloud and the others can keep pace with us.

Light pours from the fixtures suspended above the rather narrow causeway, casting shadows along the tunnel in the distance in eerie foreboding. A shiver of cold creeps along my spine with the glow of mako being drawn through the pipes so far below the humidified mist rising up in a dense fog. I'd forgotten how high up this area of Midgar was.

Normally, heights wouldn't bother me. But tonight, that's not exactly true.

The causeway gives a minor tremble as our boots collide against its crisscrossed steel surface. I grit my teeth and follow Biggs towards the junction point up ahead. Don't look down. It won't fall, I try to stir a fraction of confidence that was lost upon my first step on this thing back into play, only scrounging up enough to keep me from stopping. The faster I get off of this thing, the better.

Wedge catches up in the brief hesitation of my stride, a sense of confidence about him. Good ol' Wedge, the resident bulldog of the group. Whereas he can fight when he needs to, tonight, he's got a more important task - getting us the hell out of here before the fireworks begin. That steely devotion in his eyes radiates quiet excitement, his weapon drawn and a piece of paper clutched in hand. That piece of paper is the single most important piece on Gaia right now.

"See you guys later." He breaks from our pack towards the secondary emergency access tunnel to begin the complex breakdown of codes so that when this thing does go up in smoke, we won't have to worry about being caught in the flames because of some stupid code door not being open.

I can offer only a mere attempt at a brief, acknowledging smile to relay my own gratitude for him to handle this as we race towards the looming reactor up ahead. Stay safe Wedge. Don't you die either.

A bullet blitzes past my arm, shattering against the semi-rusty railing with a resounding ping. What in the hell-

"Jessie! Look out!"

The echo of the .45 being discharged fractures the air, that sixth sense all Turks possess awaking immediately. Shit. These guys have been stalking us since the station, no doubt radioing in to their comrades in this region and not expecting us to get this far.

Two MPs manage to skirt past Biggs, the first knocking him against a wall and firing the automatic rifle at leisure. The resounding answer of Barret's gun arm rattles the bridge with a hail of bullets, allowing me just enough time to throw myself against the railing as the first of a pair of infantrymen descends upon his prey.

I'm a lot quicker than I look buddy. A shout of surprise escapes the infantryman, my leg connecting with his knee, sweeping it out from beneath him as I grapple for the rifle. His comrade raises his own weapon to fire upon me, oblivious to the attacks from Biggs trying to wrestle him to the ground from behind and Barret's swearing threats from the bridge. Well this is an interesting situation now isn't it?

Wedge's pistol discharges, the bullets falling short as he rushes to help us. Granted the help is not unwelcome, but at the speed he's going at, there's no way he'll reach us in time.

Metal flashes by, the rising mists below a very real possibility of where this battle could go if I don't get the upper hand soon. I lash out again, catching him under the jaw with enough force to send him back against the railing, the rifle clattering to the ground.

One down, one to - Every muscle in my body freezes in alarm at the rifle aimed right for me. Shit, how could I miss something like that? Biggs, where in the hell are you when I need you?

The click as the rifle being engages sends a wave of terror down my spine. I've been in the sights hundreds of times before, but not like this. Damn. And I don't even have Rekka with me to deflect the bullets.

I hear shouting from behind the infantryman, Biggs getting to his feet and loading another cartridge into his .45. Only one chance to get out of this alive and I gotta move now.

My arm lashes out, catching the infantryman off guard as I catch the side of the rifle with my wrist, knocking it off balance as the first of the bullets whizzes through the air, narrowly grazing the strap of the rucksack. I knew this was going too smoothly from the beginning.

The first MP gets to his feet, downing a potion and retrieving his rifle. By now I've managed to skirt past them, running full out for the bridge with Biggs by my side. From the looks of it, he's been grazed along the shoulder. So much for getting out of this unscathed as initially planned.

We're not gonna make it. The clicks of rifles being aimed fills the air along with Barret's shouts of fury. But the barrage of bullets never pierces our flesh. I look over my shoulder to see what's prevented our untimely deaths.

Like a hellishly pissed off golden retriever, Cloud stands over the fallen infantrymen, the Buster Sword stained with blood and fire in those mako eyes. A dark aura lingers around his persona, the meek infantryman I know replaced by the angry presence of a SOLDIER First Class. What in the hell is happening to him? None of this is right. It just isn't.

Fighting back the uneasiness of witnessing Cloud slay his forth infantryman today, I turn back towards the bridge and continue running.

"It's about damn time we get to this godforsaken bridge!" Biggs swears venomously, clutching his shoulder and glaring at the door he has the code for. Barret tosses him a potion, allowing me to pass before stepping into Cloud's path.

"Yo, this the first time you've ever been a reactor?"

Cloud shoulders the Buster Sword with an arrogant tone about him. I hated that motion when Zack was around.

"No," he replies indignantly. "I _did_ work for Shinra you know."

If only Barret knew the lie behind that one. Fortunately, Cloud seems to believe it at the moment himself, something I have no intention of trying to stop. For all I know, he could be trapped in one of his 'flashback' moments, where he merely 'thinks' he's been in SOLDIER. I still don't know where he's getting this from, unless Tifa really did some coaching on her behalf.

Another golden rule for Turks - when it's working in your favor, don't ask questions. Right now is one of those moments. Still though…Normal infantrymen do not develop super enhanced warrior capabilities overnight, or in fractions of a second like he seems to have done.

What in the hell did happen in that basement that I missed? Could it be the mako screwing with his brain? I knew this was a bad idea.

"The planet's full of mako energy. People use it every day."

Well congratulations Cloud, you've managed to survive long enough to prove yourself worthy of 'the speech'. Can't say I'm not impressed by that much.

Biggs raises an eyebrow and wisely turns back to the keypad to finish imputing the code while Barret continues to explain to Cloud just what we are doing in this reactor at the moment and why.

"It's the lifeblood of the planet, but Shinra keeps sucking it out of the ground with these weird machines."

Cloud merely shrugs, casting a look at the steel enforced door leading to the next area.

"I'm not here for a lecture. Let's just hurry."

The shadows of the timid infantryman I remember him as bleed through with the words, as though he's not entirely certain how to proceed from here. Despite the quirky look Barret is giving our resident exSOLDIER for the hesitation, I cannot help but feel that something is going right for a change. Cloud is still Cloud, and that is all that matters.

"That's it," Barret grabs Cloud by the arm with a frustrated grumble. "You're comin' with me from now on."

A slightly startled look crosses the infantryman's face as he looks at me and Biggs, somewhat confused by the new arrangement. Don't worry. Barret has no intention of shooting you…yet. Just keep doing whatever it is you are doing and you'll be fine. I hope.

Then again, with Barret, one never knows just what is going on in his mind. The piece of paper crumbles in my hand in anticipation of the room beyond. This is where things get tricky.

The lock snaps, Biggs giving a whoop of excitement as the rusted door creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room beyond with another glowing keypad. Drawing a deep breath, I run towards it and begin imputing the codes.

"You guys gonna be okay?" Biggs asks, his dark eyes roving over Cloud with a sense of distrust.

"We'll be fine." The infantryman returns it with a hint of hostility, moving away from Barret and closer to the keypad where I'm trying to work. Now is not a good time to be provoking him Biggs.

"Alright. Just be careful. I'll keep this place under control 'til ya get back."

I'm counting on nothing less Biggs. The numbers stop scrolling, the lock engaging once more. Ah, a control room. This would be a golden opportunity to get a bird's eye view of the entire reactor, but judging by Barret's impatient stomping, we're not going to have that luxury.

"Let's just get this the hell over with already," Barret takes the lead, checking to ensure his gun arm is loaded and ready should we be ambushed again.

"Right," I gesture to the last of the flashing keypads. "The reactor elevator should right over there."

"Well what in the hell are we waiting for Jessie? You know how this works."

Unfortunately, that is my job. With a sigh, I dart across the open floor, greeting the last lock like the previous ones. Gods Shinra has an overly simplistic way of doing things. Lock this, type in this, wait for this. The cycle goes on and on and on.

I'm rewarded once again by the click of doors being opened, Biggs's watchful gaze peering around the open door of the other room. He worries too much. We'll be back in a few minutes. Nothing dreadful is going to happen in between now and then.

Yeah, I've said that before and look where it got me, deep on the other side of the fence, helping these guys blow up reactors. We'll be _just_ fine.

The elevator is crowded, rusty in nature and in desperate need of inspection. No doubt the years of mako residue have caused such an amount of corrosion on the cables that it could collapse at any moment. I watch Barret take over the farthest corner from the door, arms crossed and standing in such a way that he seems to be pondering exactly what I'm thinking about this.

Let's see. This elevator is activated by two main buttons, an up, and a down. Should be fairly simple enough. Now, where exactly is that button? My amber eyes scan the darkened area as the door shuts behind us, leaving the three of us in the illumination of the neon backup lights. Against a backdrop of pinkish blue, I see the faint arrow buttons we need to activate.

"Press that button over there." I explain to Cloud, watching the infantryman study the wall for a few seconds before finally seeing what I saw. Shaking his head as though these switches are the worst placed items on the planet, he strikes the 'down' one.

My legs tremble as the elevator falls out from beneath us with a jerking motion, the grinding of gears deafening with the trembling of metal. Oh, I hope this thing stays on track. Otherwise we're going to fall right into the boiling mako. I grasp the outcrop of metal by the door and press my back against the corner, trying to remain calm. What in the hell is wrong with me? Elevators never used to bother me like this. A faint tremble creeps across my skin with the radiating heat stirring up through the floor in an invisible mist.

"Little by little, the reactors will drain out the all of the life," Barret's voice echoes through the steel death trap we're riding in. "And that'll be that."

Cloud leans casually against the wall with a shrug of his shoulders.

"It's not my problem."

Am I hearing this right? Cloud. What in the hell is wrong with you! You're supposed to be on our side, wanting to help us out with this. And here you are discounting everything we're going through as though it is one big inferior mission that you don't give a damn about.

"The planet's dying Cloud!"

Barret says it better than I ever could. I turn my attention to the door, not even meeting his eyes. This is not the Cloud I know. It just isn't. The Cloud I know would not do this sort of thing.

"The only thing I care about is finishing the job before security and the Roboguards come."

Please just be the mako talking. Please don't let this be the real Cloud. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the jerking motion as the elevator jounces to a halt, the door screeching open to the vast series of catwalks and restricted areas. Without waiting for a lecture from the rather irritated Barret - I'm not sure I would not have my own choice words about the situation - I trot to the downward metal stairs, trying my best to keep my swearing to a minimum as my leg protests the movement.

Stairs are my weakest obstacle on the mission, and right now I've got an unfair amount of them ahead of me. Okay. I grasp the railing and balance myself as I begin the decent, Cloud and Barret lumbering along behind me, trading hostile glares with one another.

Fire blazes through the air, spattering the humid droplets of mako with a violent hiss.

"Roboguards!" Barret shouts, aiming the gun arm and looking at me with a stern look that says 'get the hell out of here right now'.

Another one of the crimson menaces appears with a buzzing growl, revving the molten laser up for a second assault. There's no way I could fight one of those things and hope to survive even if I had Rekka with me.

"I'll meet you guys near the reactor core access causeway!" I shout, picking my way down the stairs two at a time as the singing shriek of the Buster Sword parts the air in a shower of sparks. It's phenomenal how fast a disability becomes less disabling when you're being shot at.

"Be careful Jessie!"

You don't need to tell me twice. Being vaporized by a laser would just plain suck this close to the target.

The welcoming glow of the reactor access door radiates from the bottom of the second set of stairs, beckoning like a venomous siren's call. Cloud, Barret. Don't die up there. I kinda sorta do not want to do this on my own.

The rucksack strap bites against my shoulder as I sprint towards the broken pathway to the actual reactor. Rust coats everything from the humidity, the heat stifling as it clings to my skin and dampens the fabric of my shirt. Looks like no one's been down here in a while. I clutch the strap with a quick look towards the gap in the walkway, praying I can do this.

What am I saying? Tonight I'm a Turk. I can definitely do this. My boots click against the uneven surface, the unstable looking pipe-like structure beyond warning me against it. Too late for that.

My landing needs some work. Cissnei might have been able to clear that without any problems, but Jessie is definitely a little behind on her gymnastics capabilities. I guess even athletic watchdogs have their moments.

"They just don't give up do they?" Cloud approaches at a run, the echo of gunfire further behind to signal Barret is not far behind. My heart races at the prospect of both being okay after their encounter with the Roboguards. Still, I cautiously scale the ladder to the woven steel and iron braced beams, tossing our resident mercenary a potion as he arrives on the same platform I am.

A faint smile crosses his lips at the gesture, Barret shouldering his way past with the look of murder on his face. Looks like we have more company, the blue ones this time at the base of the second ladder. Red, mechanical eyes ablaze with their targets in view, they raise their arms and draw the mako fueled guns into action.

I toss the rucksack to Barret, watching him catch it and fire a few rounds at the robotic menaces blocking the path to the final ladder before the pipes. Victory is within sight, its mighty olive green hue standing amongst the boiling mako ocean surrounding it like a sinister pinnacle challenging the world. I've never seen mako that hot before.

Maybe it was a good thing Tseng kept us out of this sort of mission.

The first robotic guard collapses in a flurry of sparks and heap of scrap metal, prompting the second and the two sensors into even greater offense. A frigid beam grazes the surface I'm standing on, cracking and splitting the warm metal. The Blizzaga materia tingles in my hand, Barret's eyes warning me against it.

"You guard the exit in case more show up. Come on spike." He barrels down the stairs towards the enemy, the blond haired infantryman hesitating and giving me this look not unfamiliar to a confused puppy.

"You're not coming with us?"

"She can't come with us!" Barret growls, shooting at one of the sensors. "She's got the only keys out of this dump. Now get your spiky ass down here and kill these things!"

He nods and rushes to assist our fearless leader, leaving me to stand guard over the only route of escape. Leaving me here is a good choice, as I don't even want to think about having to cross those steam pipes to get the final causeway.

It looks like the boys are on there way. Now the waiting game begins.

Zack, what is going on with Cloud? He doesn't seem himself at all on this mission. Is it just me noticing this? Will he snap out of it and turn back into the timid little infantryman I actually enjoy seeing around Seventh Heaven? It must be the mako talking. Cloud is an acquaintance like the others. Nothing more.

They should have reached the reactor by now, and judging by the fallen Roboguards and the flickers of sparks I can see from here, they have. What in the-

Sirens pierce the air like an angry swarm of hornets, the lights by the doorway flaring crimson and orange. No, this is not supposed to be possible.

Crimson metal glimmers on the platform by the target area for the bomb, the mighty mechanical beast raising its tail high into the air and striking at my comrades while its claws click into position threateningly. Fire pours from its nostrils, the machine guns clicking as their ammunition loads from a seemingly endless chamber. God almighty that thing was not supposed to be out of the prototype stage for another three years yet!

We have to get out of here, before the remaining RoboGuards show up and kill us all. Guys, get the hell out of there! Now!

The Guard Scorpion unleashes a hellish inferno across the pair, what looks to be Cloud darting forward with the Buster Sword glaring angrily. No Cloud, don't attack when the tail is raised! Stop!

The world spins wildly, pain ripping through my elbow and shoulder as I crash onto my side against the vicious steel. Instinctively, I reach for Rekka, finding it missing. Of all days I choose to go without my weapon, it had to be this one.

Ten minutes. I didn't figure something like this happening. In ten minutes this place is going to turn into a furnace of volcanic proportions. Nothing is going to be left after the blast, that otherworldly green mako will be a fiery molten red, burning everything it touches into nothing.

Come on. I tug at my trapped leg, trying to pull it free of the twisted steel the Roboguards attack had weakened to the point of collapse. Shit that hurts. How could I have been so careless? Damn it. I don't want to die here.

The alarms sound even louder, the metal trembling with the lockdown taking place. We can't have more than eight minutes left before that bomb goes off. No, stop thinking like that, the Turk in me tries to seize control of the situation at hand, a little startled herself. I've been in worse scrapes, but usually they didn't involve something so stupid as getting my leg caught in a tangle of metal.

Barret's burly form appears at the top of the steps, the Roboguards distracting him as he picks his way up the beam towards the doorway. Some leader he is. Doesn't even realize that I have the code to get him out of there. Then again, he probably thinks that I managed to run off at the first sound of the sirens. I'm not the type of watchdog to run when that happens though.

"You alright Jessie?"

His mako tinted eyes are awash with worry, the Buster Sword across his back as he kneels down on the shaky beam beside me. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of this thing plunging into the boiling mako below until now. A calloused hand touches my shoulder, the infantryman reaching for the twisted metal.

"Yeah," I grimace. "My leg's stuck."

There is a wave of agony, his hand twisting my leg against the metal in such a way that I have just enough room to get free. Tomorrow is going to be one of those days I'll spend swearing at him for this, if I can limp fast enough to catch him that is.

"Thanks Cloud."

Strong arms help me to my feet, guiding me along the narrow pathways until I can muster up enough pain blocking adrenaline to mask the fact that it's definitely sprained. Watchdogs do not show weakness at any point of their lives, injured or not. I don't want him to see me like this.

He came back for me. The thought nips at my mind with a warm sense of confidence as we pick our way to the elevator. He did not have to do that. Biggs probably would have instead. Still. The fact that Cloud decided to help me out of that mess…

The elevator doors slam shut, Cloud striking the button to return to the cooler floors above. Five minutes. We don't have a whole lot of time left to get out of here. I just hope we'll be able to outrun the blast.

"You sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Let's just get out of here before this place goes up in flames."

Biggs is waiting for us with a rather worried looking Barret.

"What happened Jessie?"

"I'll explain later." My fingers fly across the code pad, deciphering the escape code and making the door grind open. "We need to get out right now!"

Less than thirty seconds, if my estimates are right. Maybe even less.

Biggs is already running ahead of me to get his door under control, allowing us a clean break for the bridge.

So close to getting out of here. So close.

"God damn we're cutting this close!" Barret rushes by, signaling to an alarmed Wedge holding the access tunnel open for us.

"Shut up and run old man!"

"What did you call me?"

Biggs chuckles at the anger he prompted from our leader, scurrying into the lead. Just a few more feet to go. We're almost there.

The reactor causeway bucks at the force of four people running across it, my leg landing awkwardly and pitching me forward off balance.

Cloud grasps me by the shoulder, hauling me to my feet before I can completely fall as the molten light pours from deep within the recesses of the rooms we just fled from. Like a swift wave of fiery water, it sweeps through the corridors ahead of the deafening explosion that silences the world around us, fire consuming the air with its ravenous jaws.

A blunt force tackles me from behind, wrapping his arms around me and forcing me to the ground to shield me, the heat rolling over us as the metal trembles and shakes, dust falling from the brackets and fixed plates of the ceiling. I-I can't even move the world is shaking so bad.

After a few seconds, it stops, the roar lost to the haunting silence of steel falling into place to finish the task of sealing the reactor off behind us.

I look up at the soot covered faces of my comrades, shoving a bewildered Cloud off of me.

We made it.


	43. The Aftermath

**Urgh, this chapter was a pain in the butt for some reason. Not exactly sure why. It just seemed to write strange for me, either rushing too fast in some parts that I deemed boring despite protests by the Muse, or dragging forever without that emotional zip it needed. Guess I just wasn't 'In the Zone' per say. Dunno. Anyway, here's the next chapter (with liberties taken as usual to make it interesting) and I hope ya'll enjoy it. The Muse assures me that she will make the next installment to this fic even better than this one, so that's something to look forward to.**

**Chapter Forty Three - The Aftermath**

This access tunnel seemed a lot bigger on the blueprint.

Then again, anything seems a lot bigger when there aren't four rowdy terrorists whooping and hollering about watching something blow up. Typical men.

"Did you see the size of that explosion?" Biggs grabs me by the shoulder, practically dragging me to my feet before I can get a half decent look at our surroundings. Sure is dusty down here, and hot. That reactor must be really burning on the other side of that heat shield.

"God damn Jessie! I didn't think ya meant that big!"

It wasn't _supposed _to be that big. Hell, it shouldn't have collapsed half of the access tunnel either, if those fallen beams to our left and the thin slivers of backup lighting creeping across the jagged metal are any indication of the power behind that 'little' bomb. I'm hoping that was caused by a minor aftershock, but somehow I doubt it. Nothing is ever that simple when you literally created a reactor with the strength of a moderate volcano.

Wedge whistles from further down the tunnel, picking at a piece of metal with his fingers as though double checking something against something only he would know.

"Holy shit, guys, we did some major structural damage tonight." He climbs onto one of the beams, stretching onto his toes for a closer look at something. "These beams must have fallen from the upper supports more than a hundred feet high. They're the cross section beams of the steel enforced roofing plates and from the looks of it, some of the steam piping from below that must've shot up through the floor when the fire began. And these beams over here aren't even reactor beams. More likely they're from processor buildings further away. They probably felt this one the whole way to Sector Seven, maybe further. Probably knocked down a bunch of surrounding structures with the shockwave."

My scratched and bleeding hands are trembling, the palms stained with soot and grease. I-I never meant to be that destructive. It was not supposed to take out the surrounding buildings. Gods. How many died because of me tonight? One? Ten? A hundred?

I never meant to kill anyone. No. Not like this.

The quivering sensation travels from my hands through my body, pricking at the skin and chilling me despite the heat of the tunnel. I-I'm no better than the rest of them. There blood is on my hands. I _murdered _them. Men, women, children, all innocent and unsuspecting.

"Jessie-" Barret tosses me the satchel, its leather surface nearly slipping through my numb hands as I fumble to catch it. "Ya know the drill. Get us the hell outta here before them Shinra bastards corner us."

The mission…Of course. We still have to get back to our safe haven before we can call it a successful mission. Survival is still a key priority.

Pull yourself together, that inner voice commands, notably the quietest she's ever been. I haven't felt this defeated since - since I helped bury Zack that night on the wastelands.

And I paid dearly for my sins the first time around.

That uncertain quivering rekindles along my hands as I fish the small plastic box from the secondary pouch of the rucksack, taking a shaky step towards the lowest point of the tunnel where the debris is the lightest. Here is where the weakest point will be. Just enough for us to punch through to make our escape.

"That should keep the planet going, at least a little longer." Barret sounds confident in his words, something mirrored by the smug, arm crossing Biggs leaning against the wall and the intrigued Wedge scaling another pile of broken iron and steel to join his comrade. They have every right to be pleased with this. They are not the ones who willingly plunged their hands into the bloodbath and had it stain every contour of their flesh.

The bomb clicks, signaling that it is ready to be detonated to remove the only thing standing between us and freedom. Freedom I'm still obligated to protect regardless of what I've done. I'll have plenty of time to reflect upon this later.

"Alright," I point to the far end of the tunnel where the debris is thickest. "Everyone get back!"

Looks like I don't need to tell them twice.

The flames rip through the steel like a series of molten blades, the heat rippling over the five of us huddled against the far wall with the shriek of the explosion. Somehow I doubt I'll ever get used to that sound.

Smoke fills the tunnel, fire rolling over the debris, fueled by what little oxygen is in this area. There is a mad scramble of bodies and feet for the exit, the heat singeing violently across us. Just get out before the flames trap us. My leg throbs at the motion, only to be blocked out by the sense of survival washing through my body. I can see the light through the flames. Almost there.

Cloud moves like unbridled lightning across the debris littered tunnel, lunging for the exit and landing somewhere beyond. Barret's dark form follows, the strength of a bull carrying him far from the flames with the leap. Biggs touches my elbow with a confident look, leaping over the flames as though they are a minor obstacle. Looks like I'm the next one in this pack to get out of here.

The fire reaches for my body, but I am faster, clearing the flames before they can latch onto my clothing and draw me into the horrific embrace. Gods I hate fire. It's so destructive and unpredictable. One moment it will save you from freezing to death out in the cold, and the next, it will reduce everything it touches to a pile of ash.

The frigid winter air greets me with a gentle touch, chasing the heat away with a vicious growl of its own. I made it.

"Alright!" Biggs gives another victory whoop and punches the air in excitement. "We did it!"

"Yeowch!" Wedge runs further ahead, frantically slapping at the errant embers of the fire hitching a ride upon his pants. Looks like I'm not the only one holding a grudge against the flames tonight. Cloud looks away, hiding a hint of a smirk at the spectacle. At least he's okay. I owe this man so much already, after nearly getting him killed more than his fair share tonight. I just wish I knew what was going on in his mind. Is he Cloud? Or is he something else? Something dark and sinister that lurks in the darkness of the soul to surface as it so pleases, like a parasite, feasting on his mind and seizing it for its own evil purposes. A whole other person.

He almost reminds me a little of Sephiroth, but that cannot be right. I've been in the mako laden air a bit too long to be drawing those kind of conclusions. Still, that stare in his mako blue eyes. It's not friendly like Zack's once was. To save my own sanity for the moment, I look away, finding a world unlike anything I could have imagined staring back at me.

Holy, this is worse than those sci-fi movies Reno used to watch.

The eerie green paint has been stripped from its surfaces, lying in curled sheets across the soot-laden pavement. All that remains is the dark, rusted skeleton, aged ten years past its prime by the corrosive power of the mako being forced through the air with such rapid force. Dull mako light from the backup generators and Sector Eight's reactor illuminate the brown and yellow blended sky, smoke screening in a billowing blanket across all of Midgar. You can smell the sour scent of mako burning upon the air, its lingering touch materializing into a thick, oily residue that stings the eyes and invades the lungs with ruthless intent, settling over every surface in a slick, rain-like coating.

The wire gates are twisted beyond repair, layered upon fractured beams, the once mighty symbol of Shinra dangling by thin steel cables from the side of a metal plate, thoroughly scorched beyond repair.

What have we done?

"Alright, now let's get outta here!" Barret's sturdy voice rounds us all up for further orders. Which is good, because technically, this is as far as I planned. "Rendezvous at Sector 8 station. Split up and get on the train."

Easier said than done. This is Sector Eight - Turks territory. No doubt that explosion woke the entire neighborhood and in a few minutes this area will be crawling with infantrymen. Getting on the train is going to be a challenge and a half, because the last Sector Eight Express should be departing in about - should have departed three minutes ago if that clock up there is any indication of the time. It's five minutes past midnight when the hands stopped moving because of us. We better hurry if we hope to go anywhere tonight.

Biggs and Wedge split as though they never knew one another, scaling the still smoldering wreckage of the fence to vanish into the night. Bastards. Once again I'm left with the stairs. Chivalry we have not.

Still, stairs are better than climbing the wreckage any day and I can at least take my time to an extent. Lousy stupid beam just had to break and catch my leg in it. Biting back the discomfort, I take a few steps towards the stairs and break into an uneven jog, leaving Cloud and Barret to 'talk'.

The damage is far worse up here than initially thought. There are vehicles resting on their sides, tires still spinning. A few injured civilians stagger about the open area with looks of confusion upon their sooty faces. Sector One is definitely not going to recover anytime soon. I take to the shadows, skirting the fine line between districts until I emerge on the fringe of Sector Eight.

Looks like nothing much has changed since I left. The same old posters of LOVELESS hang, er, well, some of them still hang up there against the theater, their seductress luring people in like she has for the past many years. I never quite understood that play and what people like Genesis found so alluring about it. Even Reno sat through it once or twice, though he never outright would admit it, even when I heard him repeating a line or two from time to time when he thought no one was around.

Meh, it was an okay play. A little too dramatic for my tastes with a more than sappy mediocre cast. I never personally liked love stories. Every one I ever saw always had the same outcome - someone always died. What in the heck kind of love story is that supposed to be anyway? At least give the hero a chance to settle down and raise a family for Holy's sake! You never see love stories end with that kind of reality. No, someone always has to die, usually doing something foolish to save the love of their life.

I continue trotting through what remains of the Sector Eight LOVELESS Avenue District towards the fountain. A small flash of pink catches my eye from the shadows as I pass the theater alleyway.

Wait, that girl. I halt, trying to catch a second glimpse of her, but the shadows obscure her from view. That looked a little like Aerith. Gods I hope not. With the amount of damage we did here tonight, the Turks are going to be combing every inch of this place for clues about AVALANCHE's home base. I hope Tseng doesn't get his paws on her because of us.

Zack would really have a fit if I let anything happen to her.

The shouts of soldiers echoes from the direction of the Shinra Building, making me continue onward towards the train station. I gotta get moving. Knowing my luck, the boys are already there, discussing the recent events.

Just my luck. I approach the train some three or four minutes later. It hasn't pulled away yet, but judging by the call of the conductor and the sparks falling from the engine, it's about to. I scramble into the last car - a baggage car.

"Glad ya could join us Jessie! We thought for sure ya got killed out there." Biggs closes the door behind me, leaving us in almost total darkness. I ease myself to the ground with a wince. Yeah, I'm gonna hurt later today. That much is guaranteed.

Wedge looks over at me with a sympathetic look about him, as though he's got something to apologize for. That's never a good look at all.

"Cloud never came." The words are brutal and stiff, piercing my soul like a serrated dagger. What did he just say? My amber eyes frantically scan the car for the blond haired infantryman, finding only my three companions and myself.

Cloud, don't do this to me tonight. You have to be here, somewhere. My pulse quickens, the weariness of the mission settling in with a distinct chill. Please don't tell me I was responsible for his death too. I can't handle this sort of thing. At one point I might have been able to, but not now. First Zack, and now Cloud. This is all too much. Every ounce of worry, fear, despair and anger is brewing together in my soul, threatening to lash out in uncontrolled, misguided rage.

"I wonder if he was killed?" Biggs thinks aloud in a softer tone, no doubt trying to figure out what in the heck did happen to our resident mercenary. Barret is quick to head off any rumors with a stern stomp of his foot and an encouraging glare.

"No way! That little shit is a tough one. He'll be fine."

For once, our leader has said something amounting to actual respect for my fair-haired comrade. I just wish it could be true. That he really isn't dead somewhere in Sector Eight.

"So," Biggs attempts to drive away the glum mood gripping us all. "Do you think Cloud's gonna fight until the end for AVALANCHE?"

"The hell would I know?" Barret snarls, slamming his fist against a wooden crate. "Do I look like a mind reader? If ya'll weren't such screw ups-"

Hey, we're not all screw ups buddy. The watchdog within growls in warning, already agitated beyond her normal tolerance level by recent events. Some of us have pretty impressive resumes behind our names thank you very much.

I lean against one of the crates, my eyes growing heavier. From the looks of it, I'm not the only one. Wedge has already dozed off and Biggs looks like he's about to. The only one remotely awake is Barret, and that's only because he's pissed off about Cloud going out and getting himself killed.

What in the hell is that sound? I raise an eyebrow, scrambling to my feet. It doesn't sound like a part of the train. At least I sure hope not. These things were recently inspected.

A second and third thud echo through the car from above us, Biggs reaching for his .45 out of habit. Good. I'm not the only one who heard it then.

"What in the hell-"

The door slides open, the rush of frigid air sweeping into the car, startling poor Wedge in a confused scramble for his weapon as Barret raises his gun arm at the intruder landing with a not so graceful thud at his feet.

"Cloud?" Three other voices join my own of varying enthusiasm. Biggs is just shocked. Wedge seems excited about this. Barret is startled. And me, well, I'm caught somewhere in between pissed off and upset. I'm pissed at him being such a jerk for putting me through this hell and upset for him choosing to show off like that. He could have dropped down on the small balcony behind the train and walked in like a normal human. Then again, he is Cloud, or, maybe someone else. I'm not sure what to think anymore.

The important thing is that he's safe, and back with the pack. That alone is comfort enough for me.

"Looks like I'm a little late." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, still holding an arrogant air about him. Barret raises his fist with a snarl.

"Damn right you're late! Ya come waltzin' in here makin' a big scene! Damn arrogant rookie."

He brushes the comment off with that laidback attitude of his.

"It's no big deal," he smirks. "Just what I always do."

Not if I can help it. Wait until Tifa hears this one. Motion sick infantrymen jumping onto moving train roofs and entering moving cars with such grace and finesse. He's got a lot to learn yet.

"Shit. Havin' everyone worried like that. You don't give a damn 'bout noone but yerself!"

Again, he brushes it off. Who in the hell does this guy think he is anyway? Cloud would never act so stuck-up and arrogant about something like this. He should be stuttering and trying to apologize his way out of this fiasco.

"You were worried about me?" Sarcasm tints his tone at the words, driving Barret up another proverbial wall. Without even replying, he stalks over to Wedge, shakes him awake and points to the civilian car.

"That's it. Wake yer sorry asses up and follow me. We're movin' out."

The lights rush by beyond the open door, Barret vanishing and leaving the remainder of us to figure it out for ourselves.

"Hey Cloud, you were great back there!"

Adjusting his slightly scorched suspenders, Wedge rises to his feet and gives the infantryman a thumbs up before hurrying after Barret. Biggs shakes his head and follows, casting him a weary look.

"We'll do better next time."

Fantastic guys. I really did not want to be the last one out of the car again. Least of all left with Cloud for company.

"Be careful," I step over to the open door and grasp the handlebar. "I'll shut this." The last thing I need is for him to take a wrong step and land on the tracks only to be run over by the train. Then again, maybe that would knock some sense into him.

He's looking at me again, like a scolded little puppy who's been rolling in the soot all day and just now got caught. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot stay mad at him. He did manage to survive this whole fiasco after all, something I didn't even think would be possible in his state of mind. Then again, I'm still disappointed in his choice of handling things. He could have been a little less SOLDERish throughout the evening.

"Hey, Jessie, I'm-" he averts his eyes, studying the crates. "I didn't mean to-"

"I don't wanna hear it," I sigh. In reality, I really don't want an explanation of what is going through his head, as, he probably does not even recall what he was thinking at that moment. "Just try to stay out of trouble from now on. Please."

"I had you worried?"

Of course you had me worried! I'm supposed to be in charge of you and you go off and end up getting shot at, jumping on moving trains, and pissing Barret off with your cocky attitude that may or may not be the real you, I'm not sure what is going on in your mind anymore, half the time, whatever the hell I'm supposed to think of you.

He drapes an arm across my shoulder, which I promptly shake off. Don't touch me. The gesture gets the point across, his gaze falling with his wounded pride.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It just kinda happened like that. Please don't be mad at me."

I'm not angry Cloud, just disappointed. Showing off is the first and last rung in the ladder to getting killed quickly. And tonight you treaded a very faint line. What would I have done if you would not have shown up? How would I explain this to Tifa? Worse yet, how would I end up coping with the fact that I managed to contribute to your death?

He's covered in soot, a look unbefitting of him. With a defeated sigh, I reach into my pocket and locate the handkerchief I always carry on me for good luck. It's one of those older, monogrammed ones from my days in the Turks, but it should do the trick.

"Oh Cloud," I shake my head at the sheepish look he's giving me. "Look at you. Your face is pitch black. Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Some days I feel older than I really am. Tonight is one of those.

With a nod of approval at the lesser amount of soot now coating his face, I turn to head back to the car where Barret and the boys are. Heaven knows what they're thinking about me being further behind, alone, in a rail car, with an infantryman.

"Hey Cloud," I try to look a little less frustrated with him. "Thanks for helping me back there."

And before I can hear his reply, I make my way to the other car, leaving him to ponder that for a while.

"Last train out of Sector Eight Station. Last stop Sector Seven, Train Graveyard. Estimated time of arrival is 12:23 A.M. Midgar Standard Time."

Looks like the late train is a hot spot for the younger crowd tonight. Two men are sleeping, and from what I can tell, the two in the corner are of little threat, too busy ogling one another's bodies and 'other' assets, no doubt making plans for 'later'. This is why the last Sector Eight train of the night was absolutely the one you never wanted to end up on.

Barret doesn't seem bothered by the show, taking a seat closest to the pair, who casually make their way to the next car. Good riddance. Biggs chuckles at the display, exchanging some sort of look with Wedge before pointing to the man tucked away in the corner by the terminal.

Looks like the lowest on the Shinra Totem pole is riding along tonight - the executive manager. An office even more useless than the Mayor's, this guy is basically paid to do nothing all day, like a lot of the other members of Shinra. Hmmm. He usually doesn't ride the rails though.

That's suspicious enough to take note of.

He gives us a quick look, muttering something about the last train before vanishing into the car up ahead. The motion goes undetected to my comrades, who've made themselves comfortable for the long ride home.

I step over to the tiny train monitor with Wedge, who's always interested in this sort of thing.

"On of these days AVALANCHE is gonna be famous," he smirks.

Infamous more than likely. After tonight, everyone's gonna want to take a bite out of us. We'll be more popular than ever, and not in a good way either. Let's see. What would be the best thing to look at after blowing up a reactor and most of the surrounding district to take that haunted edge off?

"Stop acting like a damn kid!" Uh oh. Sounds like the puppy is in trouble by the big dog again. "Sit down and shut up."

You'll get used to it Cloud. I did. His hurried steps approach with that certain level of hesitation in them. At least he's smart enough to retreat before he causes any uproars.

"Hey Cloud," I greet him, the anger from minutes ago gone. Blame that on the false sense of comfort we have here, and that Shinra Manager I'm more concerned about. "Wanna take a look at this with me?"

I can hear Biggs snickering from across the terminal. What? I just asked him if he wanted to look at this with me. Nothing major. Guess his mind is permanently entrenched in the gutter or something. The good news is that Cloud seems to be a little less motion sick this time.

"Sure. What is it?" He leans closer, tapping the monitor with his finger curiously. I tap the button to start it up.

"It's a map of the Midgar Rail System," I explain. "Pretty self explanatory, but I can explain it to you if you like."

"You know a lot about trains?"

"I like this kinda stuff. Bombs, monitors, you know, flashy stuff. So yeah, I do know a few things. It's about to start."

If only he knew just what I know.

The monitor beeps, displaying a small, neon green tangle of lines that materialize into the polygonal shape of Midgar. Reeve must have updated this since the last time I saw it. It looks cleaner and more professional.

"This is a complete model of the entire city of Midgar in a 1/10000th scale." His eyes light up at the image upon the screen. Heh, simple things for simple minds. This is the Cloud I'm fond of. I wish I could show him the three dimensional scale model Reeve built. Now that is a model to be proud of.

I point to the lines resembling a plate. "The top plate is roughly 50 meters above the ground, with a main support in the center to hold it up. Several smaller, lesser supports are scattered around the center of each sector, but the main one is the main pillar keeping the upper plate from crushing the slums. The Number One Reactor was in the northern part of the city in Sector One. The other reactors are labeled in numerical order, all the way up to number eight. For every sector, there is a reactor. From these reactors, Midgar is powered by the electricity produced."

He's observing this like a little child would, making note of everything in his mind. I guess something like this that someone like me would take for granted really is new to a backwoods infantryman.

"Every town in Midgar used to have a name, but no one remembers them anymore, so we just call them Sectors. That's the kinda place this is." I really wish I knew what the town Seventh Heaven is located in is called. At least then I might be able to know just what city aside from Midgar I'm currently calling home. The monitor flashes, bringing the image closer with a series of tiny blue dots appearing.

"Now this is the fun part," I smirk, tapping the dots. "You see this? This is the route the train is currently on. It runs around the main support structure, or Sector 0 as it is often known as. We should be approaching the center right now, and with it, the ID checkpoint. There is always an ID checkpoint before you go beneath the plates, and during that time, the background of every individual on this train is checked and matched to a database of everyone in the city. It's kinda cool in a way."

"What are we going to do about that though?" A hint of worry tints his voice. "We're terrorists."

Biggs casually holds up a hand and winks.

"Jessie took care of that already. So you ain't got nothing to worry about."

"Yes," I assure him. "Our ID cards are fake, but I put us in the system earlier tonight. So there shouldn't be any problems."

A sound like a cricket chirp fills the air, the red lights flashing and the car growing darker.

"Speak of the devil." Looks like this monitor program is accurate after all. God that sound is annoying as hell though. "Those lights mean we're in the security checkpoint area. Be on guard. You never know what type of creeps will come out when the lights are out."

I happen to work with a few of them. The sound fluctuates slightly, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. If I recall correctly, none of us Turks liked that sound. Sensitive hearing. Ah, it's about time.

"Anyhow…We're almost out of the checkpoint. That's a relief."

The lights flicker on, the monitor flickering to a cold dark screen once again. We got through okay.

"Hey look," Barret points to the window. "You can see the surface now. This city ain't got no day or night."

He must mean the slums. Yeah, it's early morning, but you wouldn't know it by the amount of artificial light around here.

"If that plate wasn't there, we could see the sky."

Cloud steps over to where our fearless leader is sitting and rests his foot against the seat, leaning forward to look out the window. I don't wanna hear it when you get motion sick buddy. Still, a somewhat sympathetic look crosses his face at the stilted attempts at housing whisks by, like tiny mounts on a mudflat.

"A floating city," his voice is soft, as though recalling something from the past. "Pretty unsettling scenery."

Barret gets to his feet with a low groan, studying the infantryman.

"Never expected to hear something like that out of you," he scoffs at the words. "Ye're jest full of surprises."

Cloud continues to look out the window at the passing scenery, surprisingly motion sickness free as Barret steps to the front of the car where the rest of us are.

"It's because of that goddamn 'pizza' that people underneath are sufferin'. The air's full of pollution, and on top of that, them reactors are sucking an the energy outta the planet."

"Then why doesn't everyone move to the upper plate?"

An innocent question that could only be executed by someone like Cloud, who wouldn't know about how things work around here. You either live on the upper plate as a part of Shinra, or because you're filthy rich, or you live beneath it as one of the bottom feeders. Trust me on that one. I think the slums are a lot better than being forced to swipe a keycard and murder innocent people at the whims of a corrupt president any day.

"Dunno," Barret answers, obviously pondering this for himself. "Probably because they ain't go no money. Or maybe it's because they just love their land, no matter how polluted it gets."

"I know," Cloud whispers. "No one lives in the slums because they want to. It's like this train. It can't run anywhere except where the rails take it."

There is truth in that statement Cloud. No one wants to be here in this situation. It just, happens like that.

The train jerks as it switches tracks, beginning the tedious slowdown as it approaches the station. Looks like we're almost home free.


	44. Homeward Bound

**Here is a quieter chapter for ya'll. The Muse was feeling lazy in certain scenes (most notably the ending part of this chapter) because she was really busy this week with unexpected issues that kept popping up every time she got a moment to herself. XP Anyway, that's to be expected from time to time. She always makes it up to ya'll later and this time is no exception. Look for the next update sometime this weekend sometime maybe. And yes, I promise it will be a long, well worth the wait chapter. ; ) Enjoy folks.**

**Chapter Forty Four - Homeward Bound**

It's hard to believe that we've only been away for the better part of an hour. Fifty seven minutes actually. During which I believe we've all aged considerably to the effect of years, at least mentally. On the outside, we are the same old ragamuffin crew that set out an hour ago en route to invisible destinations without a care in the world.

You can see the horrific reality of wisdom in our eyes.

To the newscasters who are no doubt flocking to Sector One right now, each trying to get the latest on what exactly happened there, we are the scum of the earth, rodents out to chew through wires carefully laid by Shinra. And, to a certain extent, they are right, but they have the reasoning wrong. We didn't do it to hurt anyone intentionally. We did it because no one else would.

That alone justifies our actions in the past fifty seven minutes.

I shoulder the rucksack and step off of the train, eyes not meeting the ashen faced conductor manning the door this morning. News travels slow in the slums, the Sector One incident remaining above the plates, leaving this place virtually untouched and no one the wiser to what we did. For those who are awake, they already know courtesy of the Shinra News Network. To those who aren't, they remain oblivious. Until then, Sector Seven offers the last safe haven for people like us.

"Yo, get over hear ya'll." Barret summons us towards him, no doubt to give us our further orders. I've done my part for the evening. Now all I want, is to go home, curl up in my corner, and sulk about what I have done, who I have murdered, and where I can go from here.

Cloud walks alongside me, another one of his sympathetic looks in his eyes. It's almost as though he's the one watching me tonight and not vise versa. Why though, I wouldn't know. Maybe he feels guilty about what we did as well and is just trying to find someone who can sympathize with him about it. Maybe he's just being Cloud.

Biggs and Wedge seem to be lost in their own little worlds, each quieter than usual. Gone is the enthusiasm exhibited in the tunnel, replaced by a distant longing for something only they know. I can't blame them. The aftermath is always the hardest to come to grips with.

Sometimes, that alone destroys a person's very soul.

Barret's standing atop the steps to the platform, that look of evident pride upon his face as he looks each of us over, as though sizing up his pack's strengths and weaknesses and planning where to utilize them next. I really should be thrilled about that look, but I just don't give a damn.

"The mission was a success, but don't ya'll get lazy now. The hard parts still to come."

He's trying to lessen the horror of what we did tonight, make this a little less like a nightmare and more positive. In a way, I can't fault him for trying. We did accomplish the impossible by taking this first, albeit shaky step.

Shinra has something to fear now.

"Don't ya'll get scared of that explosion. Cause the next one's gonna be bigger than that!"

Bigger? Now wait a second here. I'm actually going to take a second look at our next mission scheduled to immediately follow this one later on today, in hopes of finding out just what in the hell went wrong. That bomb should not have done that kind of damage to the upper plate infrastructure. Fire - yes. Stripping paint from the surrounding buildings - no. Something went wrong, and I'm going to find out what that was and fix it before we take on the next phase of this mission, whether the boss likes it or not.

"Alright, everyone move out and meet back at the hideout."

Finally, a chance not to rush around worrying about being shot at by infantrymen. I watch our fearless leader lumber on down the trail past the pair from the train who are still searching for a secluded place somewhere. Good luck. Seclusion down here is a rarity.

My comrades trot along further ahead, laughing and joking about something despite their weary appearances. I casually slow my pace, not in any hurry to overhear what they're talking about. For all I know it's probably some sort of dirty guy joke that only they would understand.

"So-" The soft voice of the fair-haired infantryman makes me jump in surprise. When did he get so close to me anyway. Seriously, I have got to start paying more attention to my surroundings before I get killed by someone who is not an ally. "Are you really okay Jessie?"

I designed a bomb that took out a reactor and almost us tonight Cloud. Do I look okay? Shouldering the rucksack, I continue down the packed dirt path, eyes trained ahead without looking at him.

"I'm fine. A little sore, but otherwise, I'm alright."

"You seem upset," he walks along beside me, still studying me with those innocent mako eyes. Zack used to do that a lot when he was trying to figure out what was bothering me. It usually didn't go so well for him, because when I don't want to talk about it, I really don't want to talk about it. End of story.

Cloud needs to learn when not to pry into other people's issues. It's better he learns from me rather than someone like Barret. At least I have a tolerance level. Ignoring the subject, I keep walking, choosing not to respond.

"Okay, another one of those things you don't want to talk about then. That's fine."

Good. I got my point across relatively quickly this time. At least he's a quick learner, unlike my other two comrades, well, Biggs anyway.

"So, ah, you were saying about the plates and trains?" He sheepishly reminds me, pointing to the barbed chain link fence surrounding a set of aluminum stairs spiraling upwards. Oh, we're here already? I halt by the access gate, ignoring the pair of Shinra soldiers dozing off across from it. That's what happens when you're new to the force. You end up guarding a gate all night for a fraction of your comrade's pay.

"Oh, right." I point to the stairwell and the mighty brick and mortar rectangle coated in rust, oil, and some substance know one really knows what it is, not even Reeve. When applied though, it acts like a sort of hardening glue to protect against the elements. Although, I think it might need another coating, the rust is eating at it pretty good, but not threatening enough to worry. "That would be the pillar I was talking about. You know, the one holding up Sector Seven."

His eyes are wide as he cranes his neck back to see the whole thing, including the platform at the top where all of the maintenance checks and inspections are done religiously. I've been up there a couple of times, usually guarding Reeve as he makes his rounds to every pillar to ensure that it is functioning properly. Scariest assignments I've ever been on.

"That's a big pillar. So that thing holds the entire plate up?"

"Yeah. We're standing at the center of Sector Seven right now. There are other supports, but that's the big one."

God forbid that thing ever come crashing down. It would kill everyone and everything both up there and down here. I shudder at the thought. Reeve's got that under control though. Nothing like that could ever happen while he's in charge of engineering.

"Yo Jessie! Spike!" Biggs hollers from atop a pile of scrap metal, that impish twinkle in his eyes that says he's edging to start trouble. "You two lovebirds coming to that meeting or do you want your alone time?"

If I had Rekka with me right now, he'd be a very appealing target for that comment.

"We're coming. I asked her about the pillar," Cloud responds, a little irritated by my dark haired comrade.

"_Right_. Well don't be too long. The Boss is about to clear out the last of the regulars for the night and you know how he gets when we're all not in attendance to his meetings Jess."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm aware," I stalk down the path, away from the pillar in pursuit of my comrade, Cloud following at a dejected trudge.

The city is abuzz with excitement for such an early hour, a group of younger teenagers lounging about in the cold, rambling about something that they saw on TV about the Reactor. Although, judging from their blank, somewhat lost expressions, they don't know the half of it and are hesitant to believe the Shinra Network's claims of it actually occurring. Heh, another fine advantage I had not counted on having.

Barret storms into the bar, shouting and hollering about something the four of us out here cannot hear. There is a wild scramble of chairs being overturned and feet thundering across wood, the crimson haired Johnny leading the pack in swift retreat from the bar, leaping down the steps in his drunken stupor and sluggishly moseying down the street with his little band of rebels in tow.

"Damn it Barret!" Tifa's growl of frustration echoes from behind the bar, the sound of glasses being retrieved following. "Those were customers!"

Well, I sidestep one of the smaller rebels who looks like the devil himself is chasing him, that's one way to get some privacy.

"I'll make it up to ya later Tifa!"

An inaudible grumbling sound responds, prompting nervous looks from the boys. Trust Barret to put her in a bad mood and make more work for us. Might as well help clean up the mess. I pick my way up the broken porch steps, not even looking at our fearless leader. Here I can get away with pretty much anything.

She's sweeping the broken shards of glass into a dustpan, apron covered in what appears to be some sort of alcoholic beverage. Johnny must have been at the bar when Barret stormed in, no doubt startling the lad into practically throwing his beer all over the hostess. Figures. Can Barret not make a dramatic entrance for a change? I set my rucksack on our usual table, reaching for the washrag to help wipe the tables down.

Biggs and Wedge take this opportunity to sneak in like little rodents, skittering to the table in attempt to hide from Tifa's angry glare. They should be helping to.

"My god I was worried about you guys," she brushes a strand of raven hair from her eyes and points to the television where the flames roar from the top of the Reactor, sending smoke across the entire city as a backdrop to the chaos on the ground. "You didn't say it was going to turn out like that!"

"Shinra blows shit so far out of proportion half the time," Biggs leans back in his chair, pointing to the gray haired reporter announcing that President Shinra will be speaking in about fifteen minutes. "That they don't even know what in the hell happened tonight. Watch. Tomorrow they'll be hymen and hawing about some other catastrophe and this'll be forgotten."

You have awfully high hopes Biggs and not a lot of reason to ground them on. I retrieve a few of the still standing glasses and carry them to the kitchen to be washed later. Those images will stick with me for the rest of my life. Broken bodies being carried to ambulances, fires in the streets. A screen of dirty air stretching for miles. All because of what we did.

They've turned me into a monster.

"You don't have to do that Jessie. I'll take care of it."

Oh, just thought I'd help out a bit since none of the guys seem to want to.

"So it went well then?"

I can tell by the look she's giving me that she is worried about Cloud, who, for some odd reason is not in here with the rest of us. Then again, Barret isn't either. They're probably outside butting heads again. I'm not at all surprised.

"Aside from the explosion, it went decent."

Yeah, and oh, by the way, your infantryman has a whole other side of him that he shows in battle. You might want to look into that. I take a seat at the table, trying to ignore Biggs's disgusting habit of smoking that offensive cancer stick while Wedge sips his whisky. I think I'll be content with just a glass of water thank you very much. Blame it on the years spent serving as Reno, Rude, and occasionally Tseng's designated driver.

The little bell above the door tingles with the creak of rusty hinges, the tiny body creeping down the steps so not to alert Tifa, practically leaping across the floor with an excited chirp. Shouldn't she be in bed by now?

"Papa!"

Biggs moves his chair out of the renegade four, er, five year old's path. I swear that child's age changes on a daily basis sometimes, either gaining a year here, loosing one there. I don't think even Barret knows how old she is sometimes. The resounding squeak of surprise and terror is more than enough to catch my attention.

Oh, looks like she managed to mistake Cloud for her father. Tifa's got it under control, chasing after the frightened child to the far corner and trying to coax her to at least look at the blond haired infantryman standing somewhat puzzled in the center of the bar floor. I can see the boys smiling about this. It's not funny, she's only a child. Cloud didn't mean to scare her, at least I hope not.

I lean back slightly in my chair to watch the scene unfolding, trying to ignore the smirks of Biggs and Wedge. They wouldn't be smiling if Barret saw them in that position, especially when poor innocent Marlene is involved.

"Welcome home Cloud," Tifa greets him, still trying to coax the little girl out from behind the freezer crawlspace. "I trust everything went well?"

He nods, still watching the tiny set of eyes watching him and vanishing just as quick.

"Did you fight with Barret?" she inquires, a hint of worry in her voice. She's even more stressed than we seem to be and we're the ones who did most of the work. I guess taking care of a child and trying to keep her from seeing the news will do that to a person.

Again, Cloud responds with a quiet nod, the wheels in his head turning for some odd reason. I just hope he doesn't go all 'Psycho SOLDIER' on us right at this moment. That would not be a good thing to even attempt to explain.

At the silent answer, the barkeep sighs, a scolding tone seeping back into her voice. "I should have known. He's always pushing people around and you've always been in fights since you were little. I was worried."

Whoa, back the cart up a bit. Little? So they _do_ know each other from somewhere! That explains a lot of things, as to why she would be so damn interested in bring a 'random' mako poisoned infantryman into Seventh Heaven in the dead of night and watching over him like a proverbial hawk every waking hour. I should have picked that one up right away.

Wonder just what Cloud is to Tifa anyway? From the sounds of it, a childhood best friend, but, I could be wrong there. She looks at him differently than Johnny though, only slightly. Huh, well, that's a new mystery to solve, and also none of my business either. Watchdogs only stick their noses in other people's business when it might benefit them, and I can't imagine anything other than unrefined curiosity that would prompt me to even ask about those two's past together. Knowing my luck the two are married and I'd end up being the one getting the shit kicked out of me for even approaching the question.

Some things are best left untouched. Then again, maybe when this whole fiasco with the reactor blows over, I'll inquire. I'm always up for a good story.

"Hey," Cloud kneels down to be eye level with the brown eyed child who has managed to creep out of the crawlspace, only to seek shelter behind Tifa's legs. "You don't have to be scared of me. I'm not going to hurt you."

He looks to Tifa with that inquiring look about him, seeking a name for the little girl.

"Marlene," she answers with a whisper. Cloud nods.

"Marlene. What a pretty name." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small yellow daffodil, the petals lightly creased from all of the running, but still beautiful. With the gentleness of a butterfly, he holds it out to her, all traces of the Shinra SOLDIER he acted the part of replaced with that softer side of him. "Go on. You can have this. The lady I got it from said it was one of her best flowers, and I really don't have a way to take care of it. Could you take care of it for me?"

Lady with flowers…Could he mean Aerith? That sure looks like one of her flowers. And there are not a lot of flowers in Midgar on a normal basis. I hope she got home okay.

Marlene touches the flower's petals with a curious look about her, Cloud gently pressing the stem into her palm to officially give up possession of the flower. This is the Cloud that needs to be around more often, a more human version of the one I saw out there tonight. Kind, gentle, innocent Cloud. He will make a wonderful father someday, that is, if he can keep from putting himself in situations where he's likely to get killed.

With a smile, the infantryman leaves Marlene to play with the daffodil, turning to approach our table. Even my comrades seem to be awed by this softer side of our 'exSOLDIER'. The door bursts open, our fearless leader storming in with that look about him. Immediately, the five year old perks up and runs to greet her father.

"Papa!" He scoops her up and places her upon his broad shoulders. "Welcome home!"

Barret, for the first time all evening, smiles a genuine, fatherly smile, looking at the daffodil with equal curiosity.

"Where'd ya get that?"

"Cloud gave it to me," she responds, her purple dress rustling as she tries to point to the infantryman and hold the flower without hurting the petals. Barret raises an eyebrow in surprise, for once, not about to shoot at Cloud for the gesture. Guess this falls under the 'Ye're just full of surprises' category.

"Did you thank him?"

Sheepishly, the little girl shakes her head and looks at the man who presented her with the flower.

"Thank you, Mr. Cloud man."

Even I have to stifle a laugh at the new and improved title for our newest member. Mr. Cloud man. Has a nice ring to it. At least it takes the attention off of my name for a while, which, no one has yet to pronounce and spell correctly since my induction into the pack.

"Alright you fools. We're startin' the meeting!"

Great. Just how I want to begin my day. Blow up a reactor and most of Sector One, and then sit down and discuss how we can do that same thing twice as efficient one a bigger scale. Everyone should start their day like this. Maybe it can wait a few hours until we are more awake to actually think tangible thoughts.

"So," Barret asks once we have situated ourselves around the worktable. "Our next target is Sector Five's reactor."

Sector Five? Wait. We can't blow that reactor up! I move to voice my opinion on it, only to be cut off by Biggs.

"Shouldn't we go in order Boss? Ya know, two, three, four, and so on?"

My thoughts exactly. If we blow up Sector Five, we run the risk of doing more bad than good and possibly even hitting the slums, since that particular reactor was damaged during the entire Hollander escapade with Zack four years ago and was never repaired to full capacity. The plan I drafted with the first one is for either Sector Two or Eight. Not a potentially deadly reactor like five.

And not to mention that Aerith lives there. I cannot attack a place where someone I'm supposed to be protecting is currently residing. I won't do it.

"Ain't that right Jessie."

Shit. I wasn't paying attention to what we were talking about at all.

"Gods woman, get with the program. I asked ya a question."

"Sorry," I attempt to stall for time. "I was just thinking of a better way to do this without heightening public panic and civilian casualties."

Marlene looks up at her father with an inquiring gaze.

"Papa, what are casualties?"

"Uh, er. A casualty is-" For once, the imposing dark skinned man is lost for words, glancing to the rest of us for assistance. Having the kid around makes meetings like this difficult to hold on a sensible level, providing me the golden opportunity I need to swing the entire argument in my favor. I don't think Barret would appreciate me explaining the actual details of what her father does for a living.

"Something very bad," I stand up, making my way to the computer terminal to take a second look at the bomb ingredients and the newscast. President Shinra is currently making his way to the podium to give his two cents of what happened and what will be done about it. From what I can see, good ol' sensible Tseng looks rather irritated at being forced to serve as the guard dog at this hour, his eyebrow twitching from the far right of the blond haired president. Must have woken him up.

"Worse than monsters?"

"Oh yes," I answer, trying to keep my composure at dealing with a child's innocent questions. "Monsters are even afraid of casualties. That's why we have to do our best not to run into any of them."

She seems satisfied with the answer for now. That's not to say it won't resurface later. With children you just never know. Still, Barret is looking at me with a sort of admiration for saving his butt this time.

"Sector Five would be the best place to strike to mess with Shinra's head a little. Going in logical order is what they'd expect from us."

I really must be tired, actually agreeing with Barret's suggestion at taking on Sector Five. Then again, with a little work, it could be a great plan in general. They'd never expect it. That's just how screwy that Corporation is. By the time the paperwork is processed, most of Midgar would be lightning candles for heat.

Even if it is not what I want to do. An order is an order.

"Give me time to reduce the blast of the bomb." The least I can do is voice my concerns. "That way I can be sure no one in Sector Five gets hurt, above or below the plate. That area is a sensitive reactor with a lot of quirky odds and ends to it that I'd much rather explain later in the morning, with your permission."

Barret, for the first time all evening, appears to notice the time on the wall, the hands claiming it to be closer to one. We've had a long night. We're all tired, cranky, in need of showers, and probably not thinking our clearest. I know I'm not. As though sensing the weariness of the pack, he nods and goes over to his punching bag.

"Alright. We'll go over the plan in detail later this morning."

He must be tired, or I'm just crazy, but for the first time, our midnight meeting is not going to end up in a discussion about gates, entrances, guards, and even what we screwed up. Better for them, at least for now, when I break the news that our ID cards will not work anymore and facial recognition software is in place, if Tseng's e-mails hold any credit to them.

At least I've managed to delete our tracks in time. That was still way too close for comfort though. Now all I have to do is reconfigure the bomb, figure out how in the hell I'm going to do all of this in less than twelve hours, and hope for the best. Yeah, no pressure.

The gears of the lift grind downward, Cloud glancing at each of us as though he is interrupting something important. Unless you call Wedge dozing by the table, Biggs casually watching a fly buzz by, and Barret taking out his frustrations on the ancient punching bag important, then I'd say you're right on time.

"Yo Cloud," Barret glances over at the infantryman. "There's something I wanna ask ya."

Oh dear. Now what? I finish typing in a few last codes, recording the president's speech to the hard drive. I'll analyze it later, when I'm alone and can think. Just the way he's standing though tells me that I'm not going to like what I find. That's the stance of a man in power preparing to retaliate with something dramatic, and very well worth noting for future use.

"Was there anyone from SOLDIER fighting us today?"

At this, our exhausted pack glances up, somewhat curious in a stupefied sort of way. I don't even bother to acknowledge the question. SOLDIER was not involved, just low level infantry. God I have a headache, the words flashing across the screen estimating billions of damage having been done and reactors working at double capacity to cover the devastated sector where rolling blackouts are commonplace not helping any.

"No," Cloud answers. "I'm positive."

"You sound pretty sure."

Uh oh. There's that hint of challenge in our fearless leader's voice. Cloud, you better back out while you still can, because tonight I am not going to run into the line of fire to rescue you. I can't keep doing that.

The annoyed stomp of a foot against the cemented floor reaches my ears, the unfortunate infantryman once again shifting into his arrogant stance. Not again. Why can't he just remain the meek little infantryman who remains quiet all day long? Must be a guy thing.

"If there was anyone from SOLDIER there, you wouldn't be standing there now."

Biggs, sensing the situation is about to get ugly really quick, tries in vain to restrain the pissed off man we call our _sensible_ leader, Wedge rising to his feet to provide support should the situation require it. I too am ready to jump in should this get ugly. The last thing we need down here is gunfire. That would do a hefty amount of damage I don't even want to think about and not to mention poor little Marlene. Anytime there is a child involved in something like this, it could be beyond tragic.

"Don't go thinking yer so bad, jez cause you was in SOLDIER."

There is a loud thud, followed immediately by a startled yelp from Biggs as he finds himself by my corner of the world, having been thrown there by Barret, who is storming towards Cloud with the look of murder about him. Can we have one night where no one gets hurt, punched, kicked, sworn at, or other? Guess not. I quickly avert my eyes from the scene, trying to look occupied with the latest schematics of the bomb I'm trying to modify.

"Yeah, yer strong." Barret's voice carried like a thunderstorm. "Probably all them SOLDIERs are. But don't be forgetting that yer spiky ass is workin' for AVALANCHE now. Don't be getting any ideas about hanging with Shinra no more."

"Staying with Shinra?" Cloud arches an eyebrow at the thought, that macho arrogant manliness fleeing just as quickly as it had shown up. He seems to be wanting to retreat from the impending conflict. That's good. "You asked me a question and I answered it. That's all."

The words are bitter, if not a little sarcastic at being forced out of the conflict before it can become a crisis. But there is no place I would rather have him be than out of the conflict. None of us are in the mood for a fight after the last couple of hours. And right now, I'm just as likely to growl as the others at him for stepping on toes.

He looks around the room, as though studying each of us and reaching his own conclusions about his exclusion from the pack at the current moment. It's not that we don't want him here with us. It's just that right now, we are still wrestling with our own demons and where to go from there. I'm sorry Cloud. Right now is not a good time to even approach any of us aside from Tifa. By the afternoon of the next mission, that will be different, but in these hours with tensions at their highest, you are wise to not bother.

"I'm going upstairs," he simply responds, a bit hurt at our attitudes towards him. He makes it sound like he is going somewhere far away instead of just 'upstairs'. I better do something.

"Wait," I look up from the monitor in an effort to make the infantryman not shoulder the burden of pissing us off on his own shoulders. "Cloud-"

"Let him go," Barret snarls, completely dashing any and all hopes to pathetic pieces. "Looks like he misses the Shinra."

At this, Cloud's eyes flare with that unbridled rage we saw at the reactor. Jaw set in response to our leader, he clenches his fists at his side and glares.

"Shut up." His words are darker than the plate above. "I don't care about Shinra or SOLDIER."

He steps over to the lift with a certain coldness about him, flipping the lever harsher than he probably intended.

"But don't get me wrong." The words, like the barbs to a whip, reach through the air to lash us all. "I don't care about AVALANCHE or the planet either."

Those words sting worse than the flames that almost consumed us all tonight. Worse than anything ever could. He doesn't mean those words, I try to assure myself. He was just angry at Barret and all of us. Still, the way he said them was hurtful, and mean. I really should go after him an apologize for our behavior.

"He'll be back, just give him some time on his own," Wedge whispers, trying to evade the wrath of Barret taking on the punching bag while Marlene watches. I merely sigh and turn back to the monitor where the eerie green letters are flashing in a hypnotic motion.

I hope you're right Wedge. I hope he comes back.


	45. A Matter Of Misunderstandings

**The Muse sincerely apologizes for her lack of timely updates over the past week, and presents to you a second, quick update for the Labor Day holiday. With any luck, she'll actually get several new, much longer chapters up this week, hopefully, maybe, we'll see. ; ) Enjoy this one until then folks! **

**Chapter Forty Five - A Matter Of Misunderstandings**

Why is there a random arm draped across my shoulder?

There have been a variety of awkward situations that I have found myself in over the years…But never once did they involve lying on the floor of seedy little slum bar basement, buried under a tattered slip of a woolen blanket, with an unidentifiable arm draped over my shoulder as though I am some sort of stuffed animal.

The possibilities of what might have happened to lead me to this situation run through my mind in a jumbled mess, piling up worse than an accident on the Midgarian Central Freeway at rush hour.

There's an infantryman in my bed and I'm not entirely certain just why or how he ended up there.

Eh, what in the hell? I gently attempt to maneuver his burly arm off of my shoulder, my shirtsleeve damp around the shoulder where he no doubt used it as a pillow of some sort. Fantastic, he drools. Just what I want to wake up to in the morning.

Gods, it sounds like a fricking chainsaw decided to sleep beside me. A tall, loud chainsaw with a chocobo's nest of blond hair covering his eyes and a steady trail of drool dripping down the side of his mouth that isn't plastering his hair against his face. He's kinda cute like that, just as human, if not more so than the other two creatures nesting in the basement in the other two corners, and he's warm at least. That's more than I can say for this pathetic blanket and the floor.

What am I saying? There's an infantryman in my bed and I'm not sure how he ended up there, let alone what all happened, was done, and so on. I've been in a lot of interesting situations, but none like this, that's for certain.

Okay, calm down, the inner Turk reminds me, equally spooked. Great, just what I need, both Cissnei and Jessie puzzled over this whole fiasco. Never mind. We'll start at the top of the list, rational thought and the process of elimination until I get a straight answer of what could have happened, what might have happened, and what _did_ happen.

We're both still clothed. That's a good thing. And from what I can tell, he's sleeping on top of the blanket while I'm curled up underneath of it. So that eliminates one of the potential 'what could have' happened categories. Smart man. If we were both under the blankets naked I might have had to kill him. Alright, that crisis is under control - for now.

Exactly how and why I'm waking up like this is a completely other story. I sure as hell was not drinking last night. Even with all of the chaos we caused in the span of a hour's worth of time, I know for a fact that I was not drinking. I couldn't have been. But if I wasn't drinking, then how in the hell did he end up that close to me while I was sleeping with his arm around me?

How in the hell did I get to bed anyway? I remember Barret shouting and nearly causing one hell of a brawl, Biggs ending up pretty bruised and battered from his collision with the steel wall, and then Cloud storming off claiming that he didn't give a damn about anything involving Shinra, the planet, or AVALANCHE for that matter. But I don't recall actually walking over here and actually lying down to go to sleep. Last thing I remember is -

I remove Cloud's arm with a forceful motion, watching the infantryman grunt and roll onto his side to resume his dreaming as I crawl out from beneath the blanket and take a look around the frigid room, a little apprehensive of the whole situation. Yeah, my bomb making materials are still where I left them, in a group of shanghaied measuring cups and in the same disarray as they should be. At least no one did anything to screw that up.

I practically limp across the cold concrete floor, my injured leg reminding me that I am indeed awake. Cold floor? What the hell now? Someone took my boots off. Bastards even took my socks. Gods, this is something that you read about every day in the paper, or more commonly, have happen to someone like Reno. Only, instead of it being him this time, it happened to _me_. Shit. I am getting careless.

The only good news is, aside from my boots and socks, the remainder of my clothing seems to not have been tampered with. Still the same old soot and grease coated shirt and pants I remember, with that equally cumbersome belt. Guess I should be thankful for small miracles. At least Cloud had the decency to not take that kind of advantage of me.

Good. The boys are still asleep. Gives me plenty of time to not make this look half as bad as it seems. Then again, can it get any worse? Scratch that question from the records. It can always get worse. I woke up to find an infantryman Barret wants desperately to murder for being such an ass in my bed of all places. Oh the fur is going to fly over this one, provided I don't murder said infantryman first.

Little bastard just rolled over and burrowed under my blanket as though he owns it. Damn it. There is not enough damage control in the world that is going to prevent this one from taking on a life of its own, especially when Biggs wakes up to find him in my corner without a good excuse. More importantly is going to be the question of why I even allowed someone like him to sleep beside me to begin with.

Barret's going to murder us both over what I pray is a simple misunderstanding. Okay, I shouldn't panic. First thing's first - think rationally. He's only sleeping on my blanket. Nothing happened between us that I know of. Nothing is going to. Now, how to convince the others of that same logic.

I finally do manage to reach the first floor of the bar, somewhat trying to talk myself out of murdering Cloud for starting this whole mess. To my surprise, the clock reads roughly noon-ish. That's right. We got in late last night.

"Good afternoon Jessie," Tifa greets warmly from the bar, the aftermath of last night's chaos still replaying in a loop to a mostly empty bar while Marlene's flower seems to have ended up in a small vase upon the far table looking brighter than ever. "Did you sleep well?"

"Why is there an infantryman in my bed?" The words are blunt and to the point, my fingers drumming the bar countertop in demand for an answer. I am not in the mood to negotiate possibilities this afternoon.

"Oh dear." For a moment, Tifa sheepishly looks away, pretending to be busy wiping the bar counter down with a rag. I knew it. She had something to do with this. You can't trust anyone around here to give you a straight answer. "I'm sorry Jessie. I didn't realize you'd get so upset."

"What in the hell happened last night?" I snarl, the palm of my hand striking the countertop with exactly the right amount of force to get my point across. Today I'm taking no prisoners.

"Calm down." She attempts to control the situation in as calm of a manner as she possibly can. "He didn't do anything bad. I can explain everything."

You sure as hell better. I'm pissed about this whole fiasco, if I can even call it that. Not many things drive me up a proverbial wall like this, but not being able to recall the last couple of hours is definitely high on the list of good reasons to panic.

"What happened." It is not a question, but a demand for the answer. The sooner we can get this ironed out in a sensible explanation, the better off everyone will be.

Tifa holds up her hands in a second attempt at trying to tell me to calm down, or at least prevent me from lunging into another conflict I did not think completely through. "He was upset about the whole Barret incident and stormed up here to talk about it."

I'm not going to like where this is going, am I?

"We had a nice long discussion, you know, to catch up on old times and such. Nothing major, but I had to convince Cloud to stay in AVALANCHE somehow."

I cannot help but raise an eyebrow at just what sort of sick sense of humor this woman has for bargaining chips. Maybe I really do not want to know.

"Don't look at me like that. I wouldn't do that sort of thing to you."

I woke up with an infantryman in my bed. He had to have ended up there somehow. Much to her credit, Tifa ignores my frustrated glare and pretends that nothing at all happened, choosing instead to continue wiping the bar down with the rag.

"Barret stormed up here grumbling about Shinra and its bottom feeders on his way to tuck Marlene in for the night. You know how he can get under people's skin."

Yeah, I'm well versed in experiencing the epic Wallace rants that make AVALANCHE so infamous. Go on.

"Cloud, of course, was the target of Barret's misguided ranting as usual and was ready to walk out at that moment and not look back. It took some convincing, but I eventually managed to convince him to calm down enough to think rationally enough to not run off and leave AVALANCHE sitting for the next mission."

She rearranges the glasses almost subconsciously, thinking about something only she knows. Perhaps it's some sort of memory of Cloud from her youth. Maybe more. I would think she would be a little angrier herself about hearing about him ending up on my blanket. They seemed like the perfect matches for one another.

"He was a little restless about the whole argument on whatever was said down there and after some convincing, I thought it would be best for him to learn to accept this sort of behavior, preferably explained by someone who actually experienced Barret's wrath first hand and knows how to get around the system with minimal injury. He still has a lot to learn, and I needed a patient teacher who wouldn't try to shoot him."

Oh, so that's why he was in the basement. Well, that explains a little bit more of the puzzle. She was trying to find someone tolerable to tell Cloud how this whole thing with Barret works. Perhaps if he heard it from someone else, he would put more thought into Tifa's advice and actually take it for once. Clever as that plan was, our local infantryman turned exSOLDIER and whatnot is not exactly the sharpest pencil in the pack. He can be at times, but not always when caught in the crossfire of another male challenger.

"Well," Tifa scratches the back of her neck almost nervously. "You kind of fell asleep at your worktable sometime around four before I could ask you for help, and he was concerned about you. He thinks you work too hard sometimes."

That does sound a little more believable. I have been known to fall asleep at my desk in the past when faced with a hellish amount of overtime paperwork that leads into the early morning hours on a nightshift I was not supposed to have been scheduled to have to work anyway.

Tifa shakes her head at the thought with a soft laugh.

"I tried to convince him not to do it, but he just felt compelled to pick you up and carry you over to your little corner of the world to tuck you in for the night. He's always been so caring about people."

Cloud actually cared enough to do something like that? No one's ever done something like that for me. Not even when I was little. To think that someone like Cloud would actually care enough to, is just puzzling. I don't know what to think anymore. On one hand, I overreacted. On the other, I was justified in doing so. It was self defense and raw instinct.

Tifa, sensing my discomfort over the situation in general, merely nods.

"I _tried_ to tell him that you were not the type that enjoyed being touched and would probably be angry with him about it in the morning, but he insisted on staying beside you all night. Claimed he was afraid you might have nightmares about the reactor explosion."

Oddly enough. I don't think I even dreamed last night. I should have, but maybe I was too upset to even dream.

"It's okay to talk about it you know," Tifa's looking at me with this sort of reprimanding look about her that really isn't so reprimanding. She's trying to help. I know that much. But there are some things I just have to handle on my own. Half the things I have done are on that list of never to be discussed with anyone aside from other Turks. And even they're gone now. "You don't have to shoulder the burden yourself."

"I just don't feel like talking about it Tifa." Silence. That's how I was taught to handle it. That's how I intend on handling it for the rest of my life. Cissnei was a professional at keeping her thoughts to herself, wrestling each demon like the last until it became almost like clockwork. After a while, you just kinda feel numb about the whole thing.

I made a mistake and blew up a reactor that took out most of the surrounding area. And yet, I don't feel anything this afternoon about it. There is no remorse for what I have done. No guilt nor sorrow. No joy. Hell, I'd be lucky to even feel the pain of my sprained ankle at this point. But I don't. I don't because I can't.

All Shinra watchdogs like me are, are monsters. And monsters aren't _programmed_ to feel pain. We're trained to obey a specific code of orders. To forget about our own wellbeing to do the bidding of our masters. Even when we stray, run as far as possible from them, we are under _their_ control.

The raven-haired woman leans against the bar, studying me with a look that almost rivals pity. She's working on her own puzzle, grasping for pieces and trying to fit them all together to understand the picture better. Her cherry hazel eyes tell me that she knows about several pieces I choose not to offer up for discussion, but those same eyes hold a sense of respect.

"You and Cloud have more in common than I thought," she says, a bit amused, yet serious. "He doesn't like to talk about certain things either. Every time I try to get him to say what's on his mind, he evades the question. Sometimes, he'll talk about it, like last night. But a lot of times, he keeps it to himself. You're one of the few I've ever seen him open up to and try to be friends with. He's always been like that, but moreso after he joined Shinra. He used to be so full of life and fun to talk to, but now, he's so distant."

"Shinra does things to people Tifa." I respond darkly. "Horrible things that change people for life."

They changed Genesis and Angeal; Sephiroth became a monster. Zack, gentle, kind Zack could not escape their clutches and suffered at their cruel claws. Every single member of the Turks, stripped of their names and lives to be programmed into dignified, unfeeling monsters capable of murdering innocent people without second thoughts. Cloud was not immune to it either. Four long years of torture at Hojo's hands turned a meek infantryman into a madman who can't tell the difference between who he was and who he is.

The stagnant bar grows quiet, the man's voice on the television a simple annoyance to the background, Tifa looking at the doorway with a distant look about her.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to Jessie," she whispers. "But what exactly happened to you to drive you away?"

Things I do not wish to discuss. Horrible things that no one should have to face.

_They_ selected me from an orphanage at their own discretion against my will. _They_ took away my name and assigned me a new one. _They_ locked me in the confines of a twisted little world of steel walls and lies, telling me only what _they_ felt I needed to know. _They_ controlled every aspect of my life, every minute of my day, breaking my spirit into an obedient one. _They_ raised me to be a _murderer_. _They_ allowed and encouraged me to become close to Zack Fair. And then _they_ assigned me the task of being the one to track and kill him.

_They_ turned me into a monster.

And then _they_ tried to kill me.

With a shaky sigh, I avert my eyes and look towards the frosted window in the far corner. Someday I might talk about my life as a Turk, who I once was and later became, and what drove me to this point.

But today, I choose to remain silent.


	46. Watchdog's Privilege

**Ugh, the Muse is feeling incredibly lazy and unmotivated lately and no matter how hard I try, she just won't write very fast nor complete things on time. (Blame it on the picnic we went to last weekend. She kinda sorta ate some bad salad and hasn't been right since.) :P I do apologize for the lazy, unmotivated Muse, but while I go attempt to convince her to hurry up and get more, better written, action packed chapters (you know they are on there way sooner or later and that the next chapter is going to be one of those self-proclaimed 'Monster' length chapters) done, enjoy this update folks! And yes, I am aware I did take my fair share of 'liberties' in this chapter thank you very much.**

**Chapter Forty Six - Watchdog's Privilege**

I am probably one of the few people on the planet who can watch something in complete silence and understand every word being said without hearing it or having the luxury of captions to read. Hearing is a mere distraction to fool the mind into believing what the eyes are seeing. Together, they paint a picture of perfect deception, hiding the truth behind a thin veil of lies.

But separate one from the other, and the entire picture changes, the veil crumbling away like a fine silk scarf in the rain. To the normal person watching this heavyweight, fair-haired man in the tweed mauve suit speak, they are hearing what they desire to hear. Billions of gil worth of damage was done, people have been injured, a sector is in ruins, a reactor is offline indefinitely, SOLDIER will be dispatched along with the Turks to find, apprehend, and execute the culprits involved in such a dastardly plot to ruin Midgar. Help is being given to the victims by the Shinra Corporation. We will stand together and fight back until all of them have been caught.

All the glorified bullshit the public needs to hear according to the script.

But to someone like me, I am seeing a completely different speech, one more valuable than anything anyone has ever been privileged to seeing.

His blond hair, manicured and slicked back, mustache neatly trimmed to perfect lengths - he was not asleep when the reactor blew up. The slight rotation of his plump wrist on the fringe of the cherry wood podium, a signal to Tseng that he should expect a major series of mission orders within the next twenty four hours. The slight twitch of the Wutainese man's eyebrow to signify that he understands. A whole, subtle conversation within a conversation. This is what I am looking for.

Call it a watchdog's privilege.

My pen taps against the crate by the computer mouse, the image continuing to play on to the none-the-wiser of what is really going on. There - I click the mouse, freezing the image for a closer look. President Shinra's hand, five fingers visible from the side of the podium. Tseng's vague look of steely understanding. I back the image up a few seconds. His lips mention the words "Sector" right at the exact moment that his hand forms the very visible five. It last less than two seconds, a somewhat nervous gesture to the public used to aid his confidence and resolve speech.

To AVALANCHE, the sign of a death warrant. We can't attack Sector Five. They know.

"You know you might actually be able to understand what he's saying if you turn the sound up Jessie."

I jump in surprise, hand striking the keyboard as I turn to glare at Biggs who is looking at the video from over my shoulder with a hint of scrutinizing curiosity about him. How long was he standing there anyway?

"What?" I pretend to be a little distracted at his words, as though lost in my own little world. Technically, that's not exactly a lie either. I tend to get lost there sometimes for the benefit of the greater good. Explaining what exactly I am doing will open up a whole new wave of issues, especially on how I learned to read people this way. "Oh, yeah, sound. I didn't want to wake him up."

Thank Holy for sleeping infantrymen. They provide the perfect cover in a situation like this. Someone remind me to thank him later for once again saving my ass.

My dark eyed comrade raises an eyebrow.

"Why is Spike in your corner anyway?" His words harbor that dangerous edge to them, jealousy even. Sorry Biggs, it has little to do with that sort of thing and moreso with lack of space down here. Unless I want him sleeping on my worktable, he gets to live in my corner when I'm not using it. Unless of course, either you or Wedge wish to offer up your corners. Holy knows Barret wouldn't. "Barret know about this?"

"How can he not?" After all, Barret already read me the riot act, twice, this afternoon when he woke up to find Cloud comfortable on my blanket. Had it not been for Tifa's explanation that I so graciously gave up the rights to my corner so he could get some sleep, there's a good chance I'd be the one sleeping on the porch tonight.

"And you let this happen?"

"He's one of us Biggs." I close the video of the president's speech and recheck the coordinates of where it is we're supposed to be going early tomorrow morning against the central map of Midgar. Sector Five. Not my favorite place to go in general, especially not to blow it up. "Give me a good reason why he shouldn't be allowed to have some place to sleep."

Biggs's brow furrows in frustration, his calloused hand pointing at the snoring infantryman.

"Because he's a rude, arrogant jackass who's only after one thing. That's why."

Oh Holy, here we go again. I swear that this group is just a bunch of gutter-minded, testosterone flooded males who are searching for a reason to butt heads and growl at one another. I sure wish that the first group of AVALANCHE had rubbed off on these guys to show them how this is done. I kinda sorta know how Elfe felt about her group now, and I'm not even the one in charge. At least she seemed to have everything under control, or did a very good job at deceiving us if she didn't.

"Look, Biggs. I know you're upset about Cloud being in here, but he has as much right to be a part of the group as anyone else." It's true. I cannot just let him as an outcast to the group. Not after what he's done for us already. We need his muscle power, even if he is a little psycho in the head while he's being an 'exSOLDIER.' "If I want to allow him to sleep over there in my corner, I think I am allowed to let him sleep in that corner. Had he not bothered to save my life last night, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, so just quit while you're ahead. Alright."

Finally, I got him in a corner without have to raise my hackles and snap my teeth for a change. He knows it as well as I do. I owe Cloud my life for getting me the heck out of there before I could be thoroughly toasted. And without me, no one else would have gotten out alive either.

I do not want to enter into yet another argument tonight, therefore I chose to be civil for a change. It's bad enough Tifa's sniffing around for information on me and the President is giving subliminal hand signals to the man who employed and taught me for more than sixteen years that could spell the end for AVALANCHE unless I can find some way to convince Barret that Sector Five is a bad idea.

"Alright, I'll respect your choice." He backs away a half step. Heh, he's probably thinking about how fast I could take him out with a swift kick or punch. Ms. Lockhart is not the only one with a black belt in martial arts around here. "Just remember to not get too distracted by him Jess. He's gonna get you killed one of these days. Those kind are the ones ya gotta watch out for. Romeo was a hunk too, but Juliet was the one who suffered in the end."

Romeo and Juliet was almost as sappy as LOVELESS. Another fine romance where the heroes bite the big one in the end. I wish someone would write happier stories where happy endings do exist. What in the heck am I thinking? Romance is not my forte, nor will it ever be. I don't understand how women like Juliet could pine after a man like Romeo. Most girls are driven to tears by such events and live for this sort of thing.

Then again, I'm not like the other girls and poor Romeo would probably get a nice swift kick in the crotch for being so damn stupid.

"You have nothing to worry about Biggs." I skim through the numbers on the screen, mentally calculating them against what I got by hand. So far, they match perfectly and the explosion should be smaller than the first. It has to be. Sector Five is a bigger, more complex maze of tunnels than the first reactor was and one wrong calculation could bring the entire building down on the people below, Sector Five's Church being one of them. "I do not have that sort of interest in an exSOLDIER like him."

"Sure ya don't," he rolls his eyes with a half hearted shrug of the shoulders. "Juliet said that too, but Romeo won out eventually."

"Do you have anything constructive to say?" I should be trying to figure out what is going on with Shinra instead of discussing pathetic love dramas with someone like Biggs. We've got a lot to get done before the mission begins, and so far the only thing I've managed to accomplish is to find out that the President is suspecting us of infiltrating that particular target and that Romeo was a real idiot for chasing after Juliet.

"Barret's looking for ya again."

What else is new? That man has been on my ass about this whole thing since last night, and no matter how many times I tell him Sector Five should be thought out better than it is currently being thought out as, he keeps insisting we are going to strike there, tomorrow, eight o'clock sharp, end of story.

The watchdog is not pleased by the turn of events.

With a sigh, I power down the computer and retrieve my map of the reactor and surrounding areas, trudging back upstairs to once again be ridiculed by the top dog. Sight is a horrible advantage to have when you are the only one in the pack capable of knowing what lurks in the shadows, but are unable to warn your comrades for fear of them turning upon you before you can protect them.

The infantryman's snoring echoes from the corner, lost in his own little dream world. I'm going to let him sleep. Just because he is one of us now, does not mean that Barret would appreciate him sitting in on one of our meetings. Every single remote fraction of trust from our leader is going to be what I need to convince them of the only plan I have to get us through this.

The good news is that right now, the bar is empty and has been empty for the past fifteen minutes. The bad news is, that I'm standing at the head of the table with my diagrams spread across the uneven surface, trying in vain to build a convincing argument as to why this whole reactor thing is going to be different than last night.

I always hated being the one at the head of the table. Everyone's watching you. Four sets of eyes, picking you apart in their mind and thinking of ways to completely destroy you, just to see how tough you really are. I've done it a hundred times before in the past, usually when faced with a security threat to the entire Shinra Headquarters and in the presence of the big wigs who used to sign my paycheck and grant me yet another pathetic month of life in their little universe. But tonight it just feels different. That sense of confidence I once possessed seems to have scampered under a loose floorboard, far enough out of reach that I cannot and will not be able to retrieve it.

I think the watchdog's nervousness is contagious.

"I thought all reactors were built the same. This one looks complicated though," Wedge responds, tracing various escape tunnels, some of which lead to nowhere, and others, directly into the mako chambers. Why in the hell anyone would want to go there I don't even want to know. What I do know though, is that Hollander did a major number on this place four years ago when Zack chased him through the tunnels in vain attempt to apprehend him. And not to mention the damage Sephiroth and Genesis did to the segment six offshoot chamber Hollander had been using to create copies in. I'm pretty sure most of the reactor catwalks were deemed unstable after the entire incident occurred and no one bothered to fix them due to budget cuts.

Overall, it is a fairly simple reactor, just tedious if you don't know where you're going. With five of us tramping around down there, there is no telling what could happen if one of us loses our way and gets separated far enough from the group. I may not have a magic thread to lead anyone out of there, but I have outlined the quickest and easiest path through the tunnels and I have something better.

The piece of chalk sits in the center of the table by the diagram, its white pureness dusting the coffee stained paper with a beckon of hope. Call it a trick of the Turks when we had to enter into unknown territory with only a flashlight, a vague map, and a piece of lifesaving chalk to mark where we have been.

"It's a piece of chalk," Tifa notes, picking it up and looking at it, no doubt knowing what it is used for in this scenario. She should know. Mount Nibel was a maze she navigated regularly and probably used the same trick to find her way back at times. Biggs grabs it from her hand, tossing it into the air and catching it.

"Ah, so we're gonna be like a bunch of miners eh? Marking the walls to find our way in case we get lost. Smart thinking."

He tosses it to Barret, who nods in approval to the idea. Just as long as no one marks the wrong tunnel, we should have an escape route should we have to abort the mission.

Wedge sits up straighter, pointing to the train tracks running parallel to the reactor tunnel I have circled and marked 'entrance'.

"What's this about Jessie? This is just a simple ventilation shaft. There's no way we'll fit through this."

Hey, those things are bigger than you give them credit for Wedge. You should know. If someone like Rude can fit through them, you can too. Size is not an issue this time. Speed is.

"Actually, that is the only way for us to enter this time." I remark the paper with a straight arrow from the tracks to the reactor core, saving time and distance. "By entering through this ventilation shaft, the Roboguards won't detect us and we can bypass any direct conflicts until we absolutely must fight. Trust me on this. Security is tight and we can't afford confrontation before we react the reactor. We're only five people."

"Six," Tifa corrects. Huh? Wait a second here. I can count perfectly well thank you very much. There are five of us running the mission circuit. The raven haired woman smirks. "I'm going to this time."

You cannot be serious. While I have no problem with Tifa's martial artist skills, the concept of her tagging along into a reactor is all wrong. Who's going to watch the bar while we're away, 'just in case' something goes wrong. And it will, because I know about it. What about Marlene? You're not going to leave a five year old child on her own in a seedy little bar! That's just inexcusable behavior for a parental role model. It's bad enough her father is leader of this sect.

"No way." The words escape my mind before I can think better of it. At once, Barret's cold look descends upon me, grazing my soul with reprimanding distrust. Am I the only one here who finds leaving a child unattended wrong? "Marlene's-"

"She'll be fine." I cannot believe I am hearing this, from Barret and Tifa of all people. A five year old, alone, in a bar. What part of this is even remotely sane? I open my mouth to speak my thoughts on this, but am once again silenced before I can speak by Tifa.

"Look. You're going to need me on this mission. From what I heard of the last one, there was more manpower waiting for us than estimated. An extra set of fists is only going to benefit the group."

Or leave us all dead. Holy. This changes everything! Now instead of making one ID card, I have to make two. I'll be putting in another graveyard shift again tonight. I sure hope these people understand the complexity of this. No matter how hard I try, I cannot suppress the frustrated groan of annoyance wracking my mind.

"It'll be alright Jessie," Biggs attempts to ease the tension in the room to little avail. "It's not like anything changes."

"ID cards." I manage to mutter, defeated and feeling weary all of a sudden. "I need to make new ID cards."

With the new facial recognition software in place the rules become complicated, tenfold. We are no longer free to roam about the train as civilians, or Shinra personnel for that matter. According to the latest from Shinra Headquarters, this software is so sensitive that if it picks up even the faintest of discrepancies at the checkpoint between ID card and the citizen, everything automatically goes into lockdown mode. The checkpoints are supposed to be at their normal locations, but knowing Shinra, that information has probably changed, making something like this all the more dangerous.

"Oh. Right. Don't they take like forever to make or something?" Wedge adds, recalling the long hours I've spent going over every detail to make something believable to simply board the train to begin with.

Apparently, none of them thought of that aspect of the deal. An extra person means an extra ID card, which takes more than four hours to make from start to finish. We'll never make our eight o'clock deadline at this rate.

The ID cards are the least of my concern though. We have an extra person not originally figured into the plan, which alters things ever so slightly. Think positive, I try to tell myself about Tifa's addition to the team. We have another person to back us up in an emergency. Yeah. But if there is an emergency and we all die, who gets to take care of the boss's daughter? No one.

I have ten thousand things to worry about that grapple with one another for priority every second, and I'm worried about a little girl. Damn it. I've gotten too soft being around these people.

But is that really a bad thing?

My eyes rove over the diagram, tracing the train tracks in attempt to distract myself from worrying about Marlene's fate during this mission.

At some point, effectively labeled 'Point Zero' we must disembark the train, ideally before the checkpoint sensors go into effect. That is to be Team Two. Team One is to ride the train further down the track to a secondary tunnel, jump from the train before the checkpoint, and enter the tunnel to secure the area for Team Two. Everyone is already aware of how this is supposed to work. The sticking point is who is on what team now that we have even numbered teams. That's something we're going to have to hammer out by whenever the mission begins, as Team One needs to secure disguises well before hand as they're riding the train longer.

It's going to be a long night. I can feel it.


	47. Heightened Senses

**Alright, the Muse sincerely apologizes for this late update and offers everyone a small portion of her secret stash of tasty desserts to make up for it. She's been a busy, not so lazy Muse after all, and I think you'll like what she's written for ya'll. Due to the fact that she majorly screwed up and wrote this entire mission in three very long sittings, and somehow forgot that she accidentally pasted half of the next mission for _One Hundred Tiny Missions_ into it and clicked save somewhere along the line, she had to go back and pick it apart piece by piece. Muses are prone to screw ups like that at times, especially when excited about their work. _Anyway_, long story short, getting everything separated and realizing that she had something along the lines of the mega-ultimate chapter of doom weighing in at a whopping 12,000+ words halfway through chapter, she decided to break it up into smaller portions of 5,000-6,000+ words each to make it better and more exciting for ya'll. So expect the rest of the mission fairly quickly as it's going through the Muse random edit right now. Until then, enjoy this one folks! **

**Let the countdown to the final chapter begin...**

**Chapter Forty Seven - Heightened Senses **

I have not felt this nervous since I first stepped into Commander Veld's office years ago to officially accept my shuriken and the official title as a Turk. Back then, I was notorious for being a novice, impulsive and almost to the point of renegade on my best days. I was what they call a rather 'gifted' Turk, full of intelligent wit, but severely lacking in common sense and obedience. To the Commander, I was next to worthless. But to Tseng, invaluable. No one would suspect someone like me to be a Turk.

Shinra's little experiment if you want to get technical about it. I learned quickly what it meant to wear the dark suit and tie of Shinra, and, soon became the obedient murderer we were notorious for being. That novice attitude and mediocre performance on the battlefield became a thing of the past, my skills quickly putting me in the same category as Reno and Rude, maybe even better in some categories than others. Arrogant, confident, ruthless - a Turk. Nothing could have rattled that solid foundation of obedience that I carved out for myself and took pride in standing upon even in the darkest moments.

What's wrong with me then? This should not be so difficult. I've been on hundreds of missions like this one. Espionage. Assassinations. Investigation. Cover ups. 'Exterminations'. I've done them all. But today, as I stand amongst the small crowd gathered at the station in preparation for the one mission that continues to nip at the back of my mind with a solid sense of warning, I cannot help but feel that I am walking straight into a trap of epic proportions and that this is all some horrific mistake.

One of us is going to die today. I can feel it.

"You feeling okay Jessie?" Biggs looks at me with a sense of curiosity and genuine concern, that ambitious enthusiasm for the mission masked by the look.

"I'm fine." It is a lie, as usual. I am not 'fine' as stated. I'm anything but at this stage. And, the worst part is, I have every reason in the world to not be 'fine'. That reason is currently standing on the platform beside our raven haired companion, blond hair askew and Buster Sword slung over his shoulder with the utmost confidence of a SOLDIER.

Every time I look at him, I get this feeling that it is to be the last time I'll see him alive. Tseng always said that once you really learn how to be a Turk, you almost get this eerie sort of sixth sense on top of the already sharpened senses all humans have that enables you to almost see just what is going to happen next and to whom it shall occur to.

I did not want to believe that it existed at all. But now I think I understand just why Tseng apologized to me when I told him Zack was dead. And Reno saw it in that brief three seconds it took me to proclaim that I would get home safely from Zack's grave. He knew that something horrible was about to occur in those five minutes. Now, I am the one who can see the danger flanking each of us, some moreso than others.

Cloud Strife is going to die today, and I cannot do a damn thing about it.

It feels like an invisible shadow creeping around his being. Cold. Cruel. Demented even. Lurking on the fringe in dark robes, scythe at the ready to cut the blond man down like a stalk of ripened wheat. That same translucent, omnipresent being followed a hare's breath behind when Cloud was suffering through the Mako Poisoning. He was there at Zack's grave. He tried to snatch me in the flames.

He appears in the darkness of the blink of an eye, and vanishes before one can truly see him. You only see Death once, and it is the last time you ever see him.

"Let's move out!" Barret's thunderous voice echoes across the area, interrupting the crimson haired Johnny who had been proclaiming how he was getting out of Midgar to make something of himself. Gonna go follow that big dream without a lot of ground on which to build it on after talking about it for years. Good for him. Tifa's got this sort of sad look about her, each word tearing a little piece of her soul at the seams.

In those brief split seconds, Death has made his escape, no doubt to appear when he so damn well pleases. Sometimes I wonder if he is really one of those members of the Turks you read about but never actually see until it's too late.

Listen to me now. Shinra paying Death under the table. I really must be losing my mind to think such things. The sad part is, knowing what I know of that company and their business practices, I'm probably not too far off. I've already worked for the Devil. I might as well assume Death is also a very vigilant employee with a more than cozy sense of job security.

"Come on Jess! We got a train to catch!" Wedge informs me of the plan, trotting down the packed dirt street with his bag slung over his shoulder. Getting disguises on short notice last night was a bitch. He's just lucky he's shorter than me and has the girth to pull off the ideal nerdy school boy trying to reach the _Shinra Academy for the Gifted_ at this hour. Biggs drew the fortunate card of being a wealthy gentleman in a stylish top hat and tweed suit, a match that is destined to make him an actor worthy of the stage.

And once again, I get to be the unreasonably macho man of the group. Go figure. Guess that's what I get for being drafted into leading Team One while Barret, Tifa, and Cloud get to be the rats crawling through the secondary ventilation system doing the 'heavy' labor. This is not fair at all.

I'm being unreasonable again, another fine change that is occurring the longer I do these types of missions. At one point I just accepted my mission as is and performed it to the best of my abilities. But now, yeah, I'm kinda upset about having to play the part of a man when the time approaches for me to do so.

Cissnei wouldn't have a problem with it. Jessie does. And right now, neither of them are willing to bargain it out to reach a happy medium. Then again, Cloud is in danger and Death is having a grand old time mocking me with his flickering presence.

"Hey Jessie?"

I cast the infantryman a look of interest, pausing to await the official announcement from the conductor that we may board the train.

"What's wrong Cloud?"

He arches and eyebrow and leans his head closer to my ear, pointing to Barret, who is having a less than interesting conversation with Tifa, who is trying to talk to Johnny, who is spouting off ramblings like the Romeo he is trying to be. She sure knows how to pick them. That's for sure.

"Barret said to ask you about using materia if I had any questions. Do you think you could explain how to use this one?"

He holds out a small glowing green orb in his palm, the light dancing over his pale flesh. I'd recognize that particular orb anywhere. A Restore materia no doubt. Not quite a fully mastered curaga, but close enough to help him should he get into a scrape that would hurt him. Something tells me this is no accident that I'm being asked to teach him about it now.

"Yeah," I press the materia into his palm, the warmth reminding me that he is still alive. Better me teach him than Barret. Last time we ended up leveling up a fire materia with less than pleasing results. "This is what is called a Restore materia. From the looks of it, first level, which will allow you to cast a brief level of curative magic in an emergency. The more you use it, the faster it will gain power until it can eventually save you from the brink of death."

In the five minutes spent waiting for the signal, I give him a quick rundown of the way materia works, more than enough information he will need to use the Restore to his advantage. A tiny part of the watchdog within is calmed by the fact that he is at least protected with a faint barrier of curative magics, but that same part is also wrestling with the idea that he might fail to cast it in time. It takes a few seconds to use it, seconds he might not have.

"All aboard!"

The cue for the start of the mission, and the last time I will get to explain something important to Cloud until we see each other again. Team One and Team Two are going to be separated from the start, and today there is a strong possibility of none of us making the jump from the moving train. I follow my comrades to the train, attempting to look as innocent as possible in not knowing any of them.

"Jessie," the infantryman grasps my shoulder, preventing me from boarding the train much to Barret's look of disgust from the seat to the left. "Be careful."

"You too," I whisper, trying to fight that feeling of disaster out of the back of my mind. "You be careful too."

The train is not so crowded for the early morning hour. Mostly people on their way to work, which is what gives this mission that special sense of warranted concern and heightened caution. Wedge and Biggs seem content from their places on the bench, the slightly increased people traffic less bothersome than it should be.

People bother me. Each is threatening in their own way, but none moreso than the man currently watching both Cloud and I from his spot in the corner. Odd. Since when does the Shinra Executive Manager bother to ride the morning train on a day he usually spends at that coffee shop on the corner of LOVELESS Avenue and Eighth? Hmmm.

The faint shuffle of his heel against he ground and light shift in weight to lean against the wall. An elbow bent slightly to the right with a faint narrowing of the eyebrows and an equally discontented purse of his lips. He's been expecting us.

"Yo, this ain't no private car. Split up."

The cue for Team One to take its leave. I offer a brief half nod to show that I heard, stepping lightly towards the next rail car with my comrades in tow. Perhaps it will be better working with them after all. They'll stay out of trouble and listen to me. Tifa is more than capable of caring for Cloud, and with Barret to keep her focused, he shouldn't be in any danger.

At the exit to the car, I let Biggs take the lead, feeling the frigid eyes of the Executive Manager upon my back. He's definitely here for a purpose today, and it's not to ride the rails for the hell of it. No one from Shinra does that.

I catch a brief glimpse of Barret moving to control the situation, allowing my team to escape to the next car without incident. Not that I couldn't have ended our miserable little conflict with a few choice motions, but that is not the way to handle a situation on a train. Still. Something about that look I received was demonic in nature, worthy of letting the watchdog within have her fun. He knows something important, and that little inkling of doom continues to nip with greater intensity.

Focus, I remind myself, grateful that Cissnei seems to be the one in control today. Good. Because in this situation, I can't afford to be Jessie. I _need_ to be a Turk.

The dull lights flicker with the mild jolt of the cars being coupled together, the low hum of the wheels engaging with the engine's hydraulics setting the tone for the ride. Sector Five today. How did I manage to agree to do this again? Right. I didn't. It just sort of 'happened' that way.

"_Good morning and welcome to Midgar Line Sector Seven A." _The monotone computerized feminine voice announces from the speakers embedded into the walls right below the crimson back up lights. "_Arrival at Sector Four Station is estimated to be 11:45 a.m_."

I check my watch with a small nod. Right on time. In three minutes, all hell is going to break loose at the checkpoint, during which time, Team Two is going to jump from the train and my team is going to move into position. I gesture to Biggs and Wedge to start getting ready to put on their disguises as I move towards the monitor to double check the coordinates. It would suck to accidentally land in the path of a second oncoming train, not that one should be running at this moment or anything.

Let's see. I type in what I am looking for, bringing up a map of the track. Looks like everything is in order so far. Now if only we can hold this position for a little longer, we should be fine.

The train jolts violently, my knee slamming into the wall and eliciting a nice string of swear words from me as the red warning lights flash with the shrill of the alarm and the main lights flick off, casting the car in a haunting crimson glow. What in the hell? The checkpoint is not supposed to be for another two and a half minutes yet.

Ow, damn that hurts. I limp away from the monitor, watching with horrific realization dawning upon my two comrades struggling to figure out in the darkened car what in the hell is going on. Something is definitely wrong here.

"_Type A Security Alert_."

That's a discrepancy with the Shinra Database, triggered by the facial recognition problem. Three levels, the third being the deadliest for the people involved. This shouldn't have happened yet.

"_Unidentified passengers confirmed. A search of all cars will be conducted._"

Shit. I flip through the collection of ID cards, tilting each one to catch the light, searching for a reason as to what triggered it. We scanned these cards tonight, once, to get our tickets. But they shouldn't have even been in the system officially available until the checkpoint region further down the track. And that software is not designed to kick in until we reach the designated area.

It wouldn't have been Biggs, Wedge, or even Barret's cards that tripped a warning. I know that for certain. It takes a certain level of discrepancies to even kick the system into gear. These cards look fine to me. Names, dates, barcodes, magnetic strips with hours of coding. These three are off the list of problems. Tifa's look fine too.

Passengers. Passengers. Which means more than one card set this alert off.

Which only leaves-

"_Repeating_. _Type A Security Alert_."

I need to stay calm. Maybe it was just something wrong, a glitch in the system programming that triggered it prematurely. No. That wouldn't be right all.

"_Unidentified passengers confirmed. A search of all cars will be conducted."_

Passengers.

My hand trembles as I hold the last two cards in my hand. Drawing a shaky breath, I hold them both up to the light, picking apart the letters and photos in my mind and rearranging them, praying that this is not happening.

Son of a bitch.

I shove both cards into my pocket and bolt for the car where Barret and the rest of Team Two resides. This is not good. Type A is not a breach of civilian security, but one of the entire Shinra Headquarters.

Barret's gonna kill me for sure over this one.

"We're in trouble." I pant, trying to keep from panicking at the three puzzled looks I receive upon arrival to their car. A little late for that. We're screwed if those nut jobs in the car behind this one find us in lockdown. I've never seen anyone outrun a bullet on a train. "I'll explain later. Hurry and get the hell to the next car!"

We only have one option, run like hell and hope we can reach the jump off point on time.

"_Unidentified passengers located in car one. Preparing for Lockdown_."

Come on guys. Get the hell out of there. I bolt past several startled civilians, grabbing my satchel along the way.

"_Car One Locked Down. Upgrading to Level Two Warning_."

Not good. Level Two packs a little more punch than the first level of warning. I can hear the MPs shouting commands to one another from further down, no doubt obtaining information from that damn Executive Manager. He's the reason I got us in this mess right now. Him and his damn phone of his.

I catch a glimpse of Cloud, Barret, and Tifa entering the car, no less spooked than the rest of us. Good. At least they're fast.

"Hurry!" Biggs shouts, gesturing to the automatic locking doors beginning the countdown from green to red lights.

"_Unidentified passengers located in Car Two. Preparing for Lockdown." _

"Just run!" I manage, making my own escape with the others in tow. There is no sense waiting around for the inevitable at this point. The mission's been compromised and we're the targets.

"_Car One Locked Down. Upgrading to Level Three Warning."_

The train jolts, nearly throwing me into one of the seats as I grab the metal support for the standing room only people who occasionally ride at rush hour. Reeve must have had a real problem with people falling down when the train slows. Thank Holy for it.

"Alright," Barret inquires, the regular mako lights flicking on to practically blind us all. "We clear?"

Shit no we are not clear! Level Three is one of the worse checks of the train. If they couldn't catch us in lockdown, they will definitely get us in person. There are MPs at the front of the train making their way back here as we speak and if they meet up with the other two dimwits trying to get through the locked down cars, we're done for.

"Not yet," I caution, observing that I have to work with. Not much. "They're staring another check. If we're caught, we're done for."

We need to get off of this train. Now. Let's see. These cars lock down in a specific order and there are a lot of train cars. We could probably reach the center of the train before they get to us and realize who we are. Yes. That will work as a quick fix to the problem.

"Don't worry," I reassure them, not feeling terribly confident myself at this point. "If we move up the train car by car, we should get past it."

Yeah, right. Sure we'll get past it. What I'm not about to tell them is that right now that man at the opposite end of the car wearing the dirt brown cap is also tracking out location and more than likely already told them where we are. Forget the Shinra Executive Manager at this point. That guy is an even bigger threat.

God almighty! Shinra's got people everywhere today.

I hurry past a rather confused looking Johnny, who had been taken off guard by our sudden appearance in his train car while he was daydreaming by the window. Tifa can explain the finer details to him. I gotta catch up with Biggs and Wedge right now to warn them of what's waiting for us. Cloud and the others can fend for themselves for now.

The man in the dirt brown cap appears startled for a split second, my fist sinking into the soft flesh under the lower rib and my leg sweeping his leg from underneath of him. Cloud raises an eyebrow at the display of violence, noticing the small black pager lying just out of reach, a very familiar code flashing across the screen by the fallen man's outstretched hand. Code 873. A code giving coordinates of where we are and where we are heading. I've used that code fondly a few times myself over the years, but being the target just sucks.

I wouldn't be surprised if Tseng himself was riding this train this morning. It sure as hell seems like he would be. MPs, undercover drill sergeants, and Executive Managers. Why the hell wouldn't a Turk or two be onboard.

"_Unidentified Passengers: Moving to front of train. Currently tracking location._"

I really hate this new system.

"_Car Four Locked Down. Upgrading to Level Four!" _

What in the hell? There used to only be three levels. Oh hell, never mind. At this stage, we'll be lucky to jump before we get shot at anyway. Might as well make the best of it.

I run past a group of rather interesting characters, fretting about the alarms and crisis. Forget it. I don't even want to know why a pair of men in speedos are riding this particular train. Shinra's got a quirky sense of humor indeed. Barret can handle this one.

Damn blood satin overcoats. It's no wonder drill sergeants can't run with shit in these things. I frantically attempt to button the cumbersome brass buttons with my free hand and pull my arm through the far too long sleeves as I trot through the narrow walkway of the rail car, the excess cloth brushing against my knees more like a skirt than an overcoat. Figures. Everyone's always a good foot and a half taller than me.

Biggs tips his hat in mild amusement as I hop over the car couplings, trying to prevent my oversized uniform from getting snagged in the connecting pins. From now on I swear I am never riding the Shinra Railways ever again. I'll walk thank you very much.

"Looking good Jessie! Just like a man."

"Shut up." I stalk towards him, watching him groom his fake beard into something worthy of the millionaire business tycoon representative he is supposed to be playing the part of. He merely shakes his head with a chuckle at my less than enthusiastic response, still trying to get these damn buttons buttoned and my hat adjusted to the proper fit. Gotta love the lower level drill sergeant. The one person in Scarlet's military that doesn't wear helmets, but cloth hats. Guess this is part of their superiority complex. Then again, maybe in the dark, no one will notice.

Two MPs fill my vision, appearing out of nowhere and heading straight for our car, rifles in hand. This isn't good.

"Sir! We've located the trespassers!"

Biggs looks towards me in horror, continuing to meander onward as though he is a regular passenger. I pull my coat tighter around my shoulder and stand as straight as humanly possible with a brief salute.

"Good work men." Here's to hoping I can get my voice to go deep enough to sound almost manly enough to be a drill sergeant. "I've got men closing in as we speak from the cars beyond. You secure the car in front of us so they don't get past us. That's an order, not a suggestion."

Both nod stupidly and reverse course, vanishing into the car ahead. That was too close for comfort.

"_Car Four locked down. Upgrading to Maximum Security Alert_!"

And, it looks like we made it to the jump off point. Excellent. Just a few codes here, and - we're set. Gods that track is moving past quick.

Barret storms over to the door where I'm standing, giving the "All clear" signal to Cloud and Tifa, who are regarding the newly open side door warily. Yes. You are going to have to jump. Look on the bright side though. At least you're not gonna have to jump while being shot at.

"Alright," Barret breathes a sigh of relief. "We made it."

"Are you sure about this?" Cloud's voice wavers in dread, the lights blurring by with the intensified rattling of the steel ties beyond. I'm sorry Cloud, but there really is no way around this whole thing.

"You ain't got a choice in the matter." Biggs replies, startling the infantryman with his presence in the shadows. "Those goons are on there way right now."

"Trust me," I add my two cents, earning a curious look from Cloud, who is no doubt pondering why I am wearing this ridiculous uniform of all things. "You don't want to have them shooting at you when you jump."

I don't believe I've ever seen Tifa look as pale as she does now, a hesitant step in reverse her answer to jumping off of the train. Did I neglect to mention the being shot at part when I said this would happen this way at the checkpoint? Cloud casts a sympathetic look upon her, grabbing the brass pole for support.

"Right." He draws a deep breath. "Guess there's no getting around this then. By the way Tifa. Why'd you come along again?"

Because she worries too much about you, I want to say, but the better half of me manages to keep the comment to myself.

She clenches her fists at her side with a slightly worried look about her.

"Because-"

"Hey you two!" Barret warns, the frigid air rushing into the cabin with the clatter of the train speeding through the tunnels. "This ain't the time for that sort of thing."

Yeah. You guys better hurry up and jump before one of us ends up pushing ya'll off of this train. Biggs, Wedge, and I gotta get moving if we want to make the platform to get everything ready for you. We still have a long mission ahead of us you know.

Tifa grasps the side of the open door with a quick glance, raven hair obscuring her vision.

"I've made up my mind," a light hint of fear tints her voice. "Let's do this."

With a light yelp of surprise, she leaps from the speeding train, vanishing with the roar of the rails. That looks rather scary, even by Turk standards. I hope she landed okay. At these speeds, you never know what could happen.

Cloud nods and moves towards the door, giving me a brief look of confidence. Glad he's feeling confident about this whole thing now. I feel the exact opposite. That nagging little sense of worry is seeping into range again, the taunting fear that something is going to go very wrong that hasn't already fresh in my mind.

Be careful Cloud. Don't get killed. Whatever you do, don't die today.

"You don't care if I jump first?" A challenging question directed to our fearless leader. Barret shakes his head, regarding the track suspiciously. Checkpoint. Don't forget the checkpoint guys.

"Go right ahead. A leader always stays until the end," he smirks. "Don't go worrying about me. I'll be fine. Jest don't go getting yer spiky ass killed. This is only the beginning on the mission."

_That's_ what scares me. If we're having this much trouble now - imagine what's going to happen at the reactor.

"Trust me, I'm not going to get killed." He sounds awfully certain of himself as he shrugs and jumps from the train, vanishing just like Tifa. He'll be alright, I try to remind myself. He's a tough one.

Barret moves towards the door a hesitation about him that borders on worry. He doesn't want to jump out of this train either. And I can't blame him for it. A man of his size stands a low chance of escaping injury if he doesn't make the landing just right. But he's Barret. We all know he is more than capable of making this jump.

Wedge raises an eyebrow at the tracks, his yellow shirt and suspenders almost comical in the dull crimson light. A confused schoolboy he definitely is today and that same lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming jump fresh in his mind as well.

"Ya'll know what to do," Barret addresses us, earning three nods of approval. We better damn well know what we're doing by now. "See ya'll later."

And with that, he jumps from the train, leaving the three of us to contend with whatever the hell Shinra can throw at us.

"So what now Jess?"

I grasp the door frame, trying to recall a perfect diagram of the rails in my head. There is an unfinished platform Shinra had been building years ago that got cut from the original design - another fine irritating point to Mr. Tuesti's ego - that if it is still around here, we can jump to for easy access to the reactor ducts. The bad news is we'll be passing it in about ninety seconds.

"Ninety seconds, we get to jump." I respond, thankful that at least this coat is semi warm. The closer we get to the upper world, the colder it gets and standing by the doorway is not my ideal way of staying warm.

Steel columns to hold the tunnel up. I sure hope no one slammed into those when they jumped. That would be an instant kill.

Stop it. Everything is going to be okay. Thank Holy for that little voice in the back of my mind trying to keep the situation under control or I'd have gone mad months ago.

"You really think we can do this?" Wedge asks, patiently watching the rail car up ahead for any signs of life.

"We have no choice. Barret and the others are counting on us making this jump."

Yes, the lights have changed to an ominous green, the security checkpoint lights flicking past with their blinding bars. I can see the platform from here, and, a group of MPs.

"Guys, get ready to jump!"

A hail of bullets tears into the doorframe, sending pieces of steel through the air in a curtain of bladed shrapnel.

"Jessie!" Biggs grabs my arm, dragging me out of harm's way. "Are you alright."

"Yeah." Shit. I'm bleeding. "I'm fine. Hurry, the other door."

"God damn MPs." Wedge reaches for his revolver, but I advise him against it. The pounding on the reinforced door echoes louder, the platform approaching fast amidst the hail of bullets. We're not going to make this unscathed.

"Hurry up and go!" I quickly activate the code, prying the door open and watching the cement rush by at the same height, maybe a little lower than the rail car. Biggs rushes forward, jumping as the bullets tear through the air.

Don't think about it, that survivalist within warns, the door bursting open with the echoing shouts of a pair of MPs. Bullets tear through the air, shattering brass and tearing up the walls with their lead teeth. I shoulder the satchel and leap for the platform, the air rushing around me with the deafening hail of guns being fired in rapid succession.

Get out of range. Break the fall with your shoulder. Survive. The cracked and broken cement slams against my palms as I land, hard, upon their merciless embrace, the force carrying me head over heels and onto my side with a cry of surprise. Can't stop here. I need to get out of range or get killed.

The train rumbles down the track, the distilled silence of the platform creeping in to take its place. For a moment, I merely choose to remain motionless upon the cold, hard cement, watching the blinking lights continue their usual quiet blinking and trying to figure out how in the hell I managed to survive that jump, let alone not get hit once by the bullets.

"That was something even I don't think I'll do again." Biggs offers me a hand, watching the vacant railway as if a second train of infantrymen is going to appear for the hell of it. He's got a nasty scrape along his arm from the landing. "You alright Jessie?"

"You expected anything less?" I flinch, the shrapnel related injury to my shoulder irritating at best and my legs hurt like hell from the abrupt punishment I've put them through this morning. If I can even move tomorrow, it will be amazing.

"Thank god I'm fat," Wedge grumbles, dusting himself off from further down the platform, surprisingly none the worse for wear from the incident except for a few minor bruises. Looks like we're all in one piece, for now. Thank Holy for small miracles.

"See!" Biggs stands proudly, discarding his disguise in favor of his usual camouflaging shirt and dark pants. "Told ya being fat had some advantages."

"Aw go to hell Biggs."

It actually feels good to have these two bicker during a mission for a change. Now I know for certain that they are both going to be okay. I pull a small piece of paper out of my pocket and cast my drill sergeant uniform to the side, as I won't be needing it any longer. Alright, this is a back entrance, so we need to go through those doors over there and secure the ventilation system.

After the train, this should be easy.


	48. The Cruelty Of Fate

**Well, I couldn't resist finally using what spare time I do have to actually do what I've been planning on doing for months - revising the earlier chapters of this fic. The Muse sincerely apologizes once again, this time for flooding your mailboxes (those of you who have this on alert) with rewrites of chapters one through ten. Her grammar bone was aching to finish them before the fic ended, so she went ahead and corrected/revised them up to par. AND she even changed the title to the correct grammar, albeit grudgingly. Nothing changed plot wise, but they're worth a quick look for the improvements (especially chapter eight) as a teeny tiny bit more emotion was added. Thanks for putting up with me folks and enjoy this chapter. : )**

**Chapter Forty Eight - The Cruelty Of Fate**

"Guys, we need to move. Hurry up." I take the lead, grabbing my keycard and swiping it through the emergency access door. I still can't believe this thing tripped the security alarm because I forgot to renew the damn thing two weeks ago when it was due. I can't help it I 'died' before I could renew it and my two week grace period from the date it was due just happened to be up today. Technically, I still have until midnight, but that's beyond the point. It still works for everything but trains apparently.

The door clicks and swings open with a raucous growl, leaving the dull mako backup lights as the only light in the entire tunnel. This is going to be a long day.

"Well, what do ya know. This place lets ya walk right in here." Biggs whistles casually, following me deeper into the confining, narrow tunnel. We need to split up and secure the area until we meet with Cloud and the others, pending they survived their jumps.

"Yeah. See that catwalk over there, in front of the ladder leading to that brighter area, you go there and wait until Cloud and the others meet up with you. Biggs, you follow me."

"Right." Wedge hurries off to tend to his area, leaving Biggs and me to handle the series of rusty, corroded ladders that no one has been down since the incident with Hollander four years ago.

"You weren't kidding when you said complicated."

"Nope," I respond, mentally cursing this ladder to pieces for being so high. "It gets even better when you have to input the codes to get out of here. Getting in was easy."

There is silence from beneath me, prompting my curiosity to see if he might have fallen off or something. No. He's still four rungs beneath me, hazel eyes wide with horror and looking as though he wants to say something but doesn't have the courage to.

"Relax. It's not as bad as you think. I've given us way more time on the bomb this time. We'll have like fifteen minutes this time to get out."

"Did I ever tell you that you're insane?" I manage to reach the platform, extending a hand to help him up.

"You'd rather me be sane?" I scoff at the thought. A sane exTurk. That would be a new one.

"No way! Sane Jessie would probably kick my ass for half of the comments I make."

"You're not far off." Looks like this is the split from the railway. Cloud and the others will come in this way no doubt and I can give them the codes and the bomb from here. Good. Now, all we have to do is open that hatch leading to the actual reactor and they'll be set.

Let's see. Codes for this one. Ah yes. This is that one with the insane amount of numbers. Okay. I type in each number on the tiny touch screen, watching the panel glow with the mako light and flash a few times before emitting a beep and swinging open. Sure is brighter than I recall it ever being out there. Guess the mako is burning hot tonight. Good. We don't need the highly explosive force of the bomb we used in Reactor One to do most of the damage then.

A low growl resonates through the tunnel, the tiny pinging sound of claws scratching over the grated mesh and steel welded flooring growing louder with the flicker of lights. A swish of wind glides by with a respectable amount of power and grace, its taunt muscles quivering with anticipation beneath crimson and violet fur. Fangs glisten in the faint light, the tentacle like appendages sprouting from the back of its head sway hypnotically with its barbed tail.

I reach for a small pocket knife I managed to acquire some time ago while scrounging for bomb making ingredients. It is not a very large knife, with a blade that desperately needs sharpened, but it is better than nothing. I should have brought Rekka for this purpose.

"Oh shit." Biggs freezes in place, reaching for his trusty .45 in surprise. "What in the hell is that thing Jess?"

"A Blood Taste." The beast hisses at the exchange of words, its nostrils wide with our scent.

And more than capable of posing a real problem to anyone under prepared for a confrontation with it. These things are not quite cat, nor are they insect, but something in between that escaped from one of Hojo's laboratories years ago and has been feeding on the mako vapors ever since. It was rumored that they could kill you without you even feeling them jab you with those tentacles, one of the major reasons to have a secondary weapon on hand if needed.

In this case, I am the one at the disadvantage, and that thing seems to know it. I press my back against the closest wall, feeling the cold steel against my spine and the knife in my hand. Come on Biggs, you don't hesitate to fire that gun at any other time. Why now?

The Blood Taste curls its lip into a snarl, tentacles reaching forward and spearing the steel above my head as I dart for the far corner out of habit. A stupid move on my behalf, but an easier defense than having open space on both sides where those tentacles can hit me. You get hit once, you're in trouble.

The welcoming explosion of the .45 being fired, the bullet making a wide miss to strike the steel above the doorway.

"Aim Biggs!" I shout, swinging the knife at the beast's shoulder as it soars through the air with a powerful leap, landing in front of me, jaws agape with a roar. A lot of good that did. All I did was piss it off. "A little quicker if you don't mind."

"I'm trying," he shouts, the frantic sound of him fiddling with the trigger evident. Of all damn days it chooses to jam, it just had to be today. Wonderful. I take a step backwards, the beast's muscles twitching in anticipation of hunting its prey.

The knife feels heavy in my hand, the handle coated with sweat. Calm down and think this through, I remind myself, trying to keep from panicking. I have a knife that can still be used as an effective weapon in such a crisis. I'm a master at improvising.

The Blood Taste emits a second round of growling, claws raking over the steel with a screech. I can't back down at this moment and Cloud is not going to rescue me this time. All I can hope for is Biggs to get that gun working in time to finish this thing off. It lowers itself into a crouch, preparing to spring into the air at me.

And with the flick of the wrist, I throw the knife through the air, watching it spin wildly and strike the beast alongside the muzzle, the blade cleaving an uneven, painful path into its flesh. Howls of pain reach through the darker corridor, but I don't hear them. My strides carry me across the bloody floor, the echo of the .45 piercing the air once more, this time with an accurate shot. The Blood Taste crumbles to the ground with a pathetic hiss, twitching for a few seconds before falling still.

"You didn't say about anything like this Jessie!"

"It's a mako ventilation system," I cautiously retrieve my knife, wiping the blood on the fringe of my shirt to clean it. Thank Holy for all of those years wielding Rekka. I couldn't do that again if I tried. "Use your imagination."

"Heh, there could be other things out here like this thing?" He nervously studies the fallen monster.

"It's possible. Hey Biggs." I truly am grateful that he fired that gun when he did, or I'd be the one on the ground dead. "Thanks for saving me."

"No problem." A mutual moment of sincerity over the incident that might have occurred. "You've saved my ass plenty of times with that code thing you do. Might as well return the favor."

"It's what I do."

I hear the more than semi-annoyed footsteps of Tifa hurrying along the northern vent with a slight hitch in the step. More than likely landed wrong I take it. Then again, they could also belong to the heavier, sterner footsteps of Cloud moseying on along beside her, no doubt searching for monsters to slay. I wish he would have been here a little sooner. We had a Blood Taste he could have used that sword on. I just hope we don't run into anymore of them.

Alas, the long awaited tumultuous strides of Barret somewhere further behind, his language reaching through the air with that same old "Goddamn Shinra Mother-" Well, you know the rest language we've come to expect from him, and it just wouldn't be a mission without it. I swing the satchel off of my shoulder and skim through the contents, trying in the dull shadow of the light to see if anything is damaged. Everything looks to be undamaged from what I can see. Maybe I should have brought a flashlight. Oh well, a little late for that now.

"Biggs, you wanna wait here until I get them their codes? Wedge and I'll meet you back here in a few minutes."

"Sure thing Jess. Be careful. More of those things could be around here."

Yeah. I'll keep that in mind. The last thing I expected to find down here were Blood Tastes. Nasty creatures by their own right, but the fact that they lurk so close to the public eye is just frightening. I shake my head with a sigh at the thought, picking my way back up the ladder to the narrow vent I assume they'll be arriving from. I want this mission to be over already.

There it is again. I pause, hand upon the topmost rung. That feeling of dread, as though something is lurking in the shadows, waiting, biding its time for us to make our debut once again. Gods I hope it's not another Blood Taste. I really hate this feeling of helplessness, of feeling like a mouse in a maze being observed by scientists who have little care for the mouse's fate, only to see how the mouse ends up dying. From dogs to mice, man how this job is starting to take its toll.

"Goddamn Shinra can't make a vent big enough for my ass to fit through comfortably."

"It's a vent Barret. Look. I think I see an exit."

"Goddamn better be one Tifa. This place is creeping me out."

Ah yes, the others have arrived. I can hear the disgruntled tone of our leader as he edges through the narrow walls and emerges into the even duller light of this vent. At least he has room to stand comfortably this time. His dark eyes fall upon me with a look of absolute murder, to which I can only think, "I told you it was going to be cramped down there, but you didn't listen to me as usual."

Tifa has this sort of amused look about her, dragging a half puzzled infantryman behind her into the larger area. Now that I think about it. Does Cloud ever not have that look about him when he's thinking? Heh. Guess I never really cared enough to notice before. Still. He looks like he survived the jump alright, the Buster Sword still strapped across his back like a warrior, a faint tint of blood upon the edge. Looks like Biggs and I weren't the only ones slaying monsters today. At least we have more to our numbers now. That's a fleeting minor comfort.

"What in the hell happened back there on the train Jessie?"

Shit. I knew that problem was going to arise sooner or later. I was secretly hoping for later, when everything calmed down to less likely to be murdered level and we weren't worrying about monsters trying to make us a part of their food chain. Guess not.

"It was all my fault." Actually, for once it was my fault. Cissnei forgets to renew her card and all hell breaks loose. I just can't win, but Barret definitely does not need to know what went wrong. Not now anyway. "I'll explain once we get back to the hideout. Right now you need to know where you're going."

I point to the downwards ladder leading to Biggs's section and explain briefly that the way into the reactor is through the doors we already unlocked and down a metal resource chute. Also, to get out, the reactor design is similar to Sector One, with a huge difference very few people know about.

"You mean, we have to all activate the door?" Tifa asked, strangely interested in the new twist on things. I nod, handing her a sheet with a familiar code on it. It's a universal code for Shinra higher ranking personnel to use, but it will get the job done for them. I won't be able to help them this time, so I'm trusting the female of the group to be smart enough to handle things and not lose the code in the retreat.

"Figures. Ain't nothing Shinra does is ever simple." Barret crosses his arm and begins walking to where Biggs is stationed, a slight grumbling hunch in his shoulders. Looks like I'm not the only member of the pack exhausted by this whole fiasco.

"On the contrary. This is the easiest of the reactors to escape from. There's only one door beyond the elevator, so you should be alright. From there you reach the causeway and the escape tunnel. Should be a decent run and you have extra time this time."

I get two grunts of agreement and one look of mercy from Tifa. What? It's a hell of a frustrating door to get out of. Just ask Reno and Tseng some time. I don't think I've ever seen anyone actually try to shoot the panel box until that one day. Unfortunately, the box is bulletproof. Good luck with it.

Satisfied with the explanation and certain of what is going to happen, my comrades go to meet Biggs, who will no doubt explain how to actually get to the bottom of the reactor via the metallic chute, or more likely, just why there is a dead monster lying in the vent. And once they're in the reactor, Team One will take its leave and wait for Team Two to show up so we can get the hell out of here and go home. Simple enough.

Cloud pauses at the top of the ladder, looking at me with that lopsided sense of concern in his eyes.

"What happened?"

He's pointing to the injury sustained from the mad dash off of the train and the monster blood on my shirt. I toss him the satchel containing the bomb with a sigh.

"A minor incident on the train and a random encounter with a Blood Taste. Nothing terribly important enough that it can't wait until later to patch up. Right now, you need to catch up with the others and get this mission finished."

"You sure? I think I have a spare potion on me."

"I'm fine. The train did more damage than the monster anyway." I defend, pointing to the ladder. "I'll take care of it later. I promise. Now get down there and help Barret and Tifa blow this place up so we can go home."

He cares too damn much sometimes. I'm not all that hurt and he's worried about me, which takes his mind off of the mission, and makes him likely to get killed.

"Alright." He's unconvinced, but wise enough not to challenge it. "Be careful getting out of here."

He almost grudgingly climbs down the ladder.

"I will. You be careful as well."

A nod of agreement and a brief smile are my rewards for the effort of practically shoving him down the ladder to his team. I don't like this at all. That watchdog sense is feeling as though this is the last time I am going to see him alive, and that I should, no, _need_, to say something important to him so that in the odd chance Death does choose to step out of the shadows and swing his scythe today, I will have said what needs to be said.

Cloud Strife is going to die today, and for the life of me, I do not know what to tell him. Fate is a cruel force to be reckoned with.

Please stay safe Cloud. Don't get hurt or killed out there, I want to tell him. I want to tell him about what is going to happen to him, how I have this feeling that he is going to die. How to avoid it. All this and more I want to say, but I can't. I simply can't bring myself to say anything as he vanishes down the ladder and out of view. All I can do, is turn and walk away.

But is this what I really want to do? The watchdog wants to chase him and drag his sorry ass out of there before he gets the chance to get hurt. To 'protect' him from danger. And yet, she is frozen, forced to walk away because of the creature, thing, it, Death, whatever the hell we call him, stands in the corner with the same simple warning, and instinct always wins out when you've been doing this for as long as I have. Even if I could, I can't go after him. I can't.

"Yo Jessie, you ready to get out of here." Biggs's voice carries through the narrow metal walkway sometime later, stirring me from my thoughts. He'll be okay. I know he will be. I just wish I could believe it for myself and not have to second guess it. The first guess never gets you killed. The second one does.

I land with a soft thud onto the platform where Biggs is, the metallic grating rattling at the motion. Looks like it's our turn to take our leave and hope for the best. Wedge is arriving at his ambling gait, the door to the reactor hanging wide open, and a look of mild surprise at the monster carcass lying in the middle of the vent. He's smart enough to not ask questions about the incident. Without further ado, we step through the door to make our escape.

Whoa, this slide is a lot taller than I originally thought. Narrow and twisting slightly to the side, shaky at the slightest touch. No doubt a drainage pipe that was severed by something during its construction and never finished. I wouldn't be surprised if Sephiroth might not have had something to do with this. My fingers graze the course edges slanting upwards, a distant part of me warning that this is not a good idea at all.

I'm not afraid of heights. I really am not. But something about being more than three hundred feet above the concrete ground just makes me take a step in reverse. Wary. That's the word. The watchdog is wary about this whole thing. Not scared.

"Fine," Biggs shoves his way past me with a smirk. "I'll go first. Looks like a giant sliding board anyway."

And with the enthusiasm of a five year old child, he gives a light shove to propel himself forward, sliding down the corroded pipe with a whoop of excitement. Okay, so he didn't die. That doesn't mean that I'm going to like this any better than I would if I was still a Turk.

Cloud did this. You can too. That little voice growls, prompting me to take yet another step in reverse. Holy hell I'm pathetic. I catch my leg in one weakened grate and now I can't even slide down this pipe without trembling over it. What's happening to me?

"Come on Jessie!" Biggs shouts. "I know you can do this! It's like the sliding board in the park!"

"I hated the sliding board!" I cannot help but reply. It's a sad truth. I was always terrified of that thing as a child, a fact unappreciated by Veld, slightly amusing to Gun, Rod, Rude, and Reno, and downright admirable to Tseng, who, from what I understand, holds a grudge against playground equipment of any kind for reasons unknown. I was never bold enough to ask.

"You'll be fine. Think of it as a new adventure." Wedge smiles, gesturing to the pipe. New adventure eh? Sure. _Right_. New adventure. I can do this alright. No I can't.

Yes, I can. The watchdog finally makes up her mind, prompting me to actually climb into the pipe, close my eyes, and grasp the side of the pipe for that force to start this little excursion. Gods this is scary.

A forceful shove from behind sends the air rushing up around me and a frightened yelp of surprise escapes my throat, the warped greenish metal beams rushing by. My feet strike the cement, momentarily stunning me. Gods that was almost scary.

"You, are, quite possibly, the most interesting woman I have ever seen," Biggs offers me his hand, helping me up from the cement I managed to somehow land upon without getting killed. "You'll jump out of a moving train, but turn and run at sliding boards. Heh. Come on. Let's get out of here."

"That was a corroded pipe in a mako reactor. There is a difference." So mych for my dignity today. A light tremble wracks my legs as I manage to take a few shaky steps. I never want to have to do that again. Never ever again.

A few seconds later, Wedge joins our little group, that same smirk upon his face as his comrades. Something tells me I'll never live this down.

Alright, fun's over boys. We need to hurry and get out of here, now. I take the lead, locating the stairs around the solid wall of metal bearing the insignia of the Shinra empire and the letters, Sector Five, across its rusted surface.

"Let's go." Gods, more stairs. This mission is really grating on the nerves right now. First Cloud to worry about, bad Ids, monsters, and now more stairs. I'm afraid to see what's waiting for us up above.

The rusty metal clatters beneath our feet, the tension building in the air as the elevator comes into view, no doubt still on the first floor. Damn. Alright. Looks like I have some work to do.

Grabbing a small, broken piece of rusty metal with a point, I locate the corroded screws holding the elevator control panel in place and cautiously wedge the point into the little flat slot. It takes a few tries, but I finally manage to make the makeshift screwdriver hold long enough to work each of the four screws loose. Biggs and Wedge regard me with interest, the tangle of crimson, cyan, and goldenrod wires greeting me with their challenging sense of warning. As if the High Voltage sign is not warning enough. I swear Shinra has too many stupid signs in the dumbest places.

Red, blue, yellow. This one over this one. Tie this one here. This other one here. And, if I did this right -

The elevator's gears grind from somewhere above us, the wall emitting a light vibration as it rubbles down the shaft to our floor. ExTurk, one. Elevator zero. Now if only we can keep it that way.

"Were you an electrician by any chance?" Wedge inquires while I replace the panel and the screws.

"Nope." The doors click open, granting us access. Biggs wastes no time in clicking the little yellow button. Now we wait to see if I screwed this up.

The floor jolts mildly, the elevator rising upwards as if nothing happened.

"What, need I even ask, did you used to do for a living?" Biggs is the one with the questions this time, no doubt still prying for something in my past.

"This and that," I reply, nervously running the fringe of my shirt between my fingers to stave off that biting urge to flee from the situation. Sorry bud, but if I did tell you who I once was, I might still have to kill you. "Nothing you'd be interested in. I'll tell ya one of these days."

Yeah, when I'm certain you won't kill me. The elevator gears grind to a halt, the doors edging open to reveal the blinding light of civilization's not so graceful presence, also known as Control Room One.

"Okay, we need to do this quickly." I strike the button to send the elevator back down for Cloud and the others and trot down the mesh floored corridor to the room on the left where three glowing terminals with the familiar insignia sits dormant in the center of the screen to proclaim that indeed, a lock is in place. "Biggs, you take the terminal to the left. Wedge, the one to the right. I'll get the center one."

"Alright," Biggs points to the confusing array of symbol keys and levers. "What now."

"You need to type in the code SER05. But don't press that little green button to your left until I tell you too. This needs to be timed exactly right, as it will only open when we get all three codes in at once. And then we have less than ten seconds to run through it before it locks again."

"Gotcha."

Looks like everything is in order. Now for the hard part.

"Alright. On three, we need to press the buttons at the same time. One. Two. Three."

The echo of buttons clicking out of sequence by a fraction of a second. Hell. I hate this reactor. Alright. Let's try this again.

I begin counting again, getting the same result as the first. This isn't working. My eye catches the terminal's clock, signaling that any minute now Cloud, Tifa, and Barret should be installing the bomb on the reactor's internal shell. We have to get out of here quickly.

"Let's try this one more time." I allow Biggs to count this time, the slow, deliberate sounds of the numbers telling me he really is thinking about the way this works.

One.

Two.

Three.

The buttons click, the grating of steel signaling that the passage is opening. Without waiting to see if the terminals declared it unlocked, we begin running, that spur of adrenaline forcing us to hurry and flee. So close to escaping. So close to getting out of here.

The watchdog within catches the scent of something being terribly wrong as we reach the outter fringe of the catwalk. Footsteps. And not those of our fellow AVALANCHE members either. I slow my pace, listening to the unmistakable pinging of rotor blades in the distance, coupled with the faint crackle of static over a radio.

"Jessie? What in the hell-" Biggs protests as I grasp his arm and drag him down a narrower, less used offshoot of the causeway at nearly a full run.

"No time to explain. We all need to hide, now!"

The click of guns being drawn, a wave of crimson soldiers marching in perfect rhythm into position, just barely missing us as we crowd into a small alleyway-like area riddled with shadows and cobwebs. Shit. I was right about what I saw on the speech. Damn it all to Hell. Cloud, Barret, Tifa. Guys, you're going to run right into an ambush!

I see them rounding the corner from here, Cloud in the lead with Barret following. They can't see the danger they're in. A part of me screams to yell out the warning, but common sense wins that round. To warn them is to die.

Barret trots to the left of the catwalk, abruptly halting at the first of the drill sergeants becoming visible.

"Shit, what in the hell's goin' on?"

Cloud reaches for the Buster Sword, a leery look about him from corner to corner of the area.

"A trap."

"Bravo," a faint clapping of hands mockingly from the man in the mauve tweed suit stepping out of the interior of the reactor. "And here I thought I would be disappointed."

Biggs grasps my shoulder, preventing me from rushing out there to attack the fair-haired man strutting closer to Cloud and the others. That man is responsible for everything that has happened thus far. He's responsible for allowing Zack to be murdered in cold blood. It is his fault I'm standing here, helpless, unable to even do something as simple as slay a monster. He is the murderer who did this. He is the one responsible.

"Let me go," I growl, the watchdog within beyond restraint. Jessie dares not stand in Cissnei's way this time. _I_ am not going to back down and let that man kill another person while I am around. Even if it kills me today, I _will _see that man fall from power. I will get my revenge.

"No way Jess," Biggs draws me closer. "I don't know what history you have with that man that has the ability to turn you into a different person, but I'm not going to let you get killed."

"I said-" My amber eyes narrow, President Shinra the target, words being spoken that I cannot hear through the cloak of rage rattling through my soul with the fire in my veins. "Let me go Biggs."

"No."

Barret's shouting now, his words lost the uproar of fury blinding my soul. I don't even _feel _human anymore, every ounce of what I once was seeping into my mind with every word that man says. A monster I once was. A monster I still am. A monster I shall forever remain. Do not stand in my way Biggs.

"Long time no see President." Cloud. My fingers dig into my palm, scratching the leather half gloves. Cloud. Get the hell out of there. He'll kill you.

"Long time no see?" The blond man raises an eyebrow before the look reverting to the monster he is. "Oh, it's you. The one who quit SOLDIER and joined AVALANCHE. I can tell from you eyes, you've been exposed to mako. What was your name again?"

"Cloud," the former infantryman snarls, equally angered by the presence of this man. We have something in common now. One man. One incident. And the one time we will ever get this close to gaining revenge.

"Forgive me for asking, but I cannot be expected to remember every person's name. Unless you become another Sephiroth-" the murderer challenges, watching the infantryman stiffen in frustration at the name. Another victim of this man's horrific reign of terror. None of them had to die like that. All because of that man standing so close to the edge of the causeway.

"Come on Jessie. We gotta get out of here. Barret and them will handle-"

"I am not going anywhere." I should have made that bomb ten times as explosive as the last time. That evil man deserves it for what he has done. The rage is burning wilder in my heart, consuming me from the inside out. I need to challenge that man tonight. I need to put this demon to rest once and for all.

There is no loyalty tonight, only hatred, spurned by that man's presence. And yet, I can't do a damn thing. Biggs and Wedge have me by the shoulders, preventing me from rushing out there and finishing this. They cannot understand the importance of this moment. Of being so close, and unable to do a damn thing! Let me go for once and you'll see. You'll see exactly what I am capable of. Of what I am.

A Turk seeking revenge, I was once told, is the most dangerous being on the planet.

The ping of rotor blades resonates through the reactor, drowning out Barret's shouts of rage and the light vibration speeding along the catwalk, making it shake in the delicate balance of cracking metal and falling sparks. There is more than just a helicopter approaching now.

The metallic being screams its robotic war cry of grinding gears and whirring arms, wheels tearing across the grates without hesitation. Black paint and the insignia of Shinra across its rocket propelled engines, a nearly endless supply of ammunition stored within its inner chambers. Scarlet's favorite toy, the techno soldier 'Airbuster'.

Cloud and the others are taken off guard, as are my comrades struggling to restrain me. Just the distraction I need.

"Jessie!" I hear Biggs's winded plea, struggling to catch up with me from the vicious strike as I run, leaping and bounding over the metal towards the blond-haired man and the chaos plaguing the entire walkway as Cloud and the others prepare to enter combat with Scarlet's latest toy. I can see the helicopter's dark shadow rising over the walls of the reactor building.

Oh no you don't you bastard! Not this time. I grasp the switchblade from my pocket and draw my arm back, my target within easy range.

It's just him and me this time, the battle fading to background noise in the brief split second time halts around me. I can hear the blade slicing through the air, every ounce of strength and rage flowing from my fingertips with the weight of the switchblade leaving my hand in a spinning ark.

There is surprise in those demonic blue eyes, the helicopter soaring into view. It is there, that sense of recognition, of fear even. My knife clips his leg at an awkward angle, merely grazing the skin at best, maybe a bruise from the handle, but it is enough. More than enough to answer his declaration of war against us.

That was for Zack, you sinister bastard.

Electricity lashes through the air, the screech of the Buster Sword cleaving into thick shelled metal overpowering the fleeing helicopter amidst the hail of bullets from Barret's gun arm. A dull whirring echo, much like that of a whining propeller starting up answers. Something's not right.

Get the hell out of there guys! Please!

Biggs grabs my arm, dragging me backwards with the explosive wave of heat that spreads through the air with the fiery shrapnel falling every which way.

Cloud. My mind races with the rising smoke of the catwalk where the Air Buster Technical Soldier once stood, blackened steel twisting downward and sparks falling from the wires cut loose in the explosion. This is not happening. It can't be happening.

"Barret!" Tifa pleads in horror. "Can't you do anything?"

"Not a damn thing." Reality, spoken out of sympathy to the inevitable.

Cloud Strife is going to die today, and there is nothing anyone can do.

That chasm is too wide to jump, even for a former Turk. I-I can't do anything to help him. No. Please no. Don't put me through this. Don't make me have to watch this happen. Please be a nightmare. Come on Cloud.

Don't die. Don't you dare die!

Tifa's crying, shouting in desperation to the infantryman clinging to his last few seconds of life in this world. His hands are slipping. I can see that much from here. He can't hold out any longer, no matter how brave he tries to look. There is uncertainty in his eyes, fear.

He knows he's going to die.

"Don't worry about me-" Words spoken in false confidence, tearing at my soul like a pack of rabid wolves. "I'll be alright. You take care of them Barret. Take care of Jessie and Tifa for me. I'll be fine."

I can't watch this. I-I can't watch him let go of the exposed steel rods he's holding on to. I-I don't want to. Don't let any of this be real. No.

The roar of flames spans the area with the thunderous death cry of the reactor submitting to defeat in the fiery hell we brought upon it. Heat sweeps through the air, falling around us in an eerie fog, the causeways rumbling at the force and nearly swatting us away like annoying flies.

I fall to my knees, every ounce of strength sapped from my being at the vacant, charred catwalk smoldering from the inferno of the reactor within. The smoke. There's so much smoke. And Cloud. Gone. Whisked away to the Promised Land in the cloak of the smoke as though he were a phantom not destined to even have existed.

"No." A hoarse whisper, tinged with the pain and guilt of that night on the wastelands ridge. This can't- This isn't-

A cold chill descends upon my soul and all I can do is tremble at the power of fate and how small we really are in this cruel, terrifying world.


	49. Mourning

**The Muse is working overtime in her briefer than brief freetime she does have to finish this fic. So close. So very close. ****Four chapters to go… I hope you enjoy this more somber, depressing chapter of the fic.**

**Chapter Forty Nine - Mourning**

It's past twelve o'clock.

At least, that's what my watch and that ancient, dust and cobweb coated clock upon the far wall say. It doesn't feel like it though. Seventh Heaven is silent, the regulars gone for the evening at Tifa's somber request hours ago. And yet, here I sit, knees drawn to my chin with my back against the frigid weathered wood wall, trembling. Fingers intertwined in a lazy manner, my amber eyes watch the frost gathering along the windowsill, coating the glass piece by piece, every imperfect crystal matching together, agreeing to work together to cover it from the outside view. A futile struggle. Each one shall fade in the morning, when the steam pipes warm to the correct temperature and life begins anew here in Sector Seven.

A wasted life with hopeless dreams. That's all the frost and I are.

"Jess." The sound of a second entity taking a seat beside me, his hand gently setting a ceramic cup of tea atop the table with a hesitant click. "You can't keep blaming yourself for this. There was nothing anyone could have done."

Nothing anyone could have done…

Everything could have been done Biggs. If I had only stood my ground, challenged Barret, told you what I saw in that speech. We wouldn't have been there this morning. Air Buster wouldn't have ambushed us. President Shinra wouldn't have had his hoorahs of knowing he cornered us and had the upper hand. So many things that could have been prevented by a simple challenge of command.

And yet I did nothing.

"Biggs." I hear Wedge whispering, as though his coarse tone will shatter the fragile silence spanning the empty, darkened first floor with tragic repercussions. "Tifa wants us to make sure the furnace is stocked for the night."

A polite way of convincing his comrade that I wish to be left alone, something I am almost grateful for. This is my personal hell. I do not wish for anyone else to enter into it lest they wish to have a one way trip to the Promised Land courtesy of the luck I seem to have with men.

A watchdog in mourning is hardly a watchdog at all, useless to everyone. I don't want to deal with people right now, only the ghosts of the past that taunt and elicit frustrated growls from my own spirit. Phantoms that don't exist, and yet I can feel with all the reality of the world in the air around me.

"Alright." He stands up, that worried gaze piercing my soul with hesitation. He doesn't want to leave me alone. I can sense it. He's afraid I'll do something brash, stupid even. They took away my shuriken. Locked it in the pantry cupboard where the Buster Sword was once stored. Unreasonable, they label me as at this point. A _danger_ to myself, possibly others. I'm being cornered because they're afraid _I'll_ take the coward's way out of this mess.

Turks do not take that route out. There are certain, unwritten standards that we brand, embroider, and weave into every fiber of our beings to ensure we follow them, no matter where we are. You die with honor and dignity, or you do not die at all. Such is the law of the Turks.

"We'll be outside Jessie if you need us."

Trust. The second of the great evils that have put me in this mess, worn the watchdog down to a mere whimpering puppy and left her to fend for herself in the pack of ravenous mongrels determined to tear her apart. Why did I allow myself to enter into this? I could have run back home, to my life. Cloud wouldn't have appeared in my life. I never would have known him on the level I did before he died today.

Damn you Zack. Damn you and your ability to crawl into my heart and find a way to destroy me from the inside out. Why did you have to die under my watch? Why did you let Cloud do the same thing by shattering the pieces of my already scattered life?

The second of the standards rattling the bars of my mind in wait for the perfect moment to strike its venomous teeth into my soul once again. It is a hell of a lot easier to forget someone you never had to know.

The sound of retreating footsteps, heavy with emotion. They're mourning too. Every one of them. Mourning for the man they tried to kill on several occasions until they got to know him better. How ironic.

I can't bring myself to leave this spot. I'm so cold, and yet, I feel nothing at all. Nothing. Even my cloak draped over my shoulders does little to stem the quivering terror seeping through my muscles, ever nerve numb from sitting for so long. I'm scared. If I leave this place by the window, they'll yell and chase me back here, corner me once again and sick more demons upon me.

'For my own safety.'

Bullshit. Like keeping me penned up in a corner by a window is going to keep me safe from the world that exists in my mind. What have I done to deserve being the one signaled out? I threw a knife at my enemy, and hit him in the leg hard enough to send him to the hospital for an evaluation of his 'guarded' condition, if the news had anything to say about it.

I did it because no one else would. And because of my actions, I am now a threat to myself? I wasn't trying to die tonight. I had no intention of that man seeing who I was, if he recognized me at all to begin with. I saw an opportunity, and seized it. And this makes me the bad guy here?

A glass façade, brought down by the stone throws of my 'comrades'. If they knew what was best for me, they would stop trying to take care of me. I don't need their help in this matter. I'm useless to them at this point. Utterly worthless in every way accept to be underfoot and for the most part, a burden they no longer need.

My world is crumbling, fractured like the corner of this window, just waiting to fall from the frame. Enough stones have been cast against me to last an eternity, the two that counted the most pelting the glass and ruining me emotionally.

Zack Fair. Cloud Strife. The two that counted the most - gone like the wisps of frost upon the windowpane.

What have I done? My chin rests upon folded hands, the cup of tea steaming before me. I'm defeated, cast to the bottom of the ravine, and left to figure this out for myself. No one is going to pick me up, doctor these jagged wounds, and put me back on the battlefield again. This time, I am on my own. No pack to rescue me.

"Oh, Jessie. I didn't know you were still up."

Apparently, I'm not the only one tonight. I can see it in those cherry hazel eyes, the trail of tears struggling to dry beneath the leer of the outside mako light creeping across the darkened room. The hoarseness lingers upon her somewhat raspy voice still. She's been crying, her sobs piercing the evening silence from time to time from the room at the top of the hallway.

Where _he_ once stayed.

The faint click of a glass being drawn from the corner shelf by the luminescent brandy bottles, its crystalline base producing a distinct, almost chiming sound as it meets the surface of the bar counter. A splash of what I can only assume to be some sort of hard liquor, perhaps whisky, splashes against the chaliced sides.

It's sad really. Someone of Tifa's standard, tough and ruthless towards the drunkards who keep this place running, reduced to their level over this man's death. She's ashamed of the habit, the way her hand refills the glass with practiced, almost delicate motions.

Reno once told me that it is a horrible habit that starts with a loss and is nearly impossible to break. His own demons turned him towards that path when he lost his own family before life in the Turks began and could never quite kick the habit of it. He told me, that no matter how many times he tried, it always stalked him in the darkest moments, luring him back into its grasp at the faintest show of weakness.

It was the only thing strong enough to subdue his demons, Tseng had mentioned once, not bothering to go into any detail of what might have turned Reno to that side. It was a loss, nothing more. All I knew, was that he never drank without one of his fellow Turks, almost always Rude, around. No details as to why were ever offered, but from what I could gather, my former comrade had two sides, the side that was the carefree casual drinker we all knew him to be and accepted him as; and then there was the side that Tseng even feared, when my comrade chose to drink alone. It was during those times, as it has been rumored, that Reno's demons are not subdued, but take over his very soul, and anyone who dares to stand in his way is at risk of being harmed, or worse.

I wonder if Tifa's demons are as powerful as Reno's right now.

She averts her eyes in shame and sets the bottle aside.

"I don't know anymore," she whispers, swirling the liquor in the glass and resting an elbow upon the countertop. "I just don't know. Tell me Jessie, does the pain ever go away? When someone you've known since you were a kid suddenly vanishes into death's embrace? Do you ever go back to the way things were?"

Things can never go back to they way they once were. You cannot go back across a burned bridge without drowning in the undertow of the river beneath it.

The glass clatters against the table in front of me, the only other person in this sector who could possibly understand how I'm feeling right now taking a seat in front of me.

Back off. I do not want to talk tonight.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Go ahead, kick the watchdog even worse than she already has been. Perhaps you'll make her feel even worse than she already does. Maybe you'll get her out of your life quicker that way. That she'll just up and leave to bring her misfortune upon others who were formally happy before her presence. I certainly would have no problem getting the hell out of here tonight. It's looking more and more favorable by the second, that secondary instinct warning me against trying to prolong the suffering of this impending battle.

"About Cloud and what was going to happen to him? Damn it Jessie!" I flinch at the shout and echo of a palm striking wood. Don't yell at me. Please. I didn't do anything to Cloud last night. I-I didn't mean for him to die. "Why didn't you try to stop it? Talk him out of it. Talk me out of going with everyone. Why didn't you?"

Because even if I would have stopped you from going with us, god forbid how I could have done something like that, it still would have happened. Once Death chooses his victim, there is nothing you can do to prevent him from collecting his soul.

And I was not bold enough to challenge Death at his own game on Cloud's behalf. That is something no one, human nor monster is capable of.

"I'm sorry," her words soften, watching the alcohol at her fingertips. I have to remind myself that she has been drinking, even if it doesn't look enough to put a woman like Tifa into a staggering stupor - yet.

That does not make the words any less hurtful nor the salt any less sharp to my raw wounds. The damage there has been done and no one is capable of healing them this time. Nor do I want them to be healed.

I did this to myself, by letting him get this close to me from the start. If I would have just followed my damn orders, I could have avoided being destroyed and stuck here, a prisoner of my own mind.

He was my last connection to Zack, my only friend in this world. And now he is gone. I hug my cloak tighter around my quivering body. Never coming back. And I killed him. Had I not even designed that bomb to begin with, the catwalk wouldn't have- He might have-

Scalding pain flares across my vision, welling up from within the reservoir of little used tears. I force my eyes shut to prevent them from falling.

I can't cry. Not now.

"I shouldn't have yelled. I didn't mean- It's just that-" Her words are meaningless to me, the ramblings of a less than sober human being on her own reckoning with Fate. I don't want pity, sympathy, or any other hellish human emotion from the likes of anyone.

What I want, is to be alone with my thoughts. Please Tifa.I manage to open my eyes, the faint dampness creeping along the corners and seeping into my shirtsleeve as I wipe the back of my palm across my cheek in an attempt to hide the weakness. A pleading look of defeat, an unspoken begging to be granted the solitude I need.

"You know something else, don't you?"

Please, leave me alone. I cannot tell you any more than what I already have.

"Jessie," her fingers gently touch my shoulder and I draw away violently. Don't touch me! The watchdog within cowers in fright, defensive and ready to fight back if the need arises, albeit weakly. What's wrong with me? I've never been this way before. I've never reacted like this. She was only trying to get my attention.

The trembling feels worse, my hands grasping the edge of the table to keep me from flat out running away from the situation.

Am I losing my mind? Descending into a void of insanity from which I can not climb back out of? I'm scared. Terrified of what is happening to me. I'm no longer sure of anything, if any of this is even real or not.

They're dead. And I killed them.

No, that faint speck of sanity still present in the darkness reprimands. This is not my fault. It was an accident. Murder is something one thinks about doing first. Right? Hell, I don't even know anymore.

I need to pull myself together, and fast. The others already think I'm a danger to myself. If they see me in this state, broken and dare I admit, frightened of everyone who I once fought alongside, they'll probably do something much worse than put me in this corner with their words.

"I don't know what happened to you Jessie, but please-" Her words are laced with the scent of whisky, yet somehow, still coherent enough to understand clearer than one would expect. She's trying to help me, even though she can't. "We need your help still. Please don't run to that place you go where no one can reach you. Please help us."

I don't know what more you could possibly want of me. I've done enough sinful things over the past few months to condemn me for many eternities. Nothing I can do now can save me from that fate. I found a pack of strays and led them into a nest of vipers.

And Cloud Strife paid the ultimate price because of my poor judgment call.

"None of us can force you to help us," she continues, the glass of whisky long forgotten with her bloodshot, tear drenched eyes. "I realize that. Barret realizes that. But Jessie. We need to know what went wrong. What you know about Shinra. They've obviously done something horrible to you to make you this way. Please tell us so we can help you."

No amount of words can define what they've done to me Tifa. I can't even talk about it freely without being reduced to a trembling mess over it. Right now, the best thing is for me to be right here, alone, pondering my next move, and let me make my own choice. None of you can erase my past. Do not even try to go there.

She stands up, collecting the still full glass of whisky and retreating for the kitchen to place it in the sink for later this morning's washing. Either the effects of the alcohol have brought her down to a new level of defeat, or she's realized that trying to talk to me is a lost cause not worth pursuing to the point where she adds to her own misery.

I'll talk, when I feel I am ready to. Until then, I don't want to even attempt it, lest I say something to get myself into even more trouble.

"He wouldn't want to see you in this shape Jessie. AVALANCHE cannot afford to lose you as well. Please stay strong, for him."

Her weary footsteps echo halfheartedly across the floor and back up the stairs from where they had come, leaving a desolate sense of silence throughout the floor.

He wouldn't want to see me like this...

But this is how things are. How I am. The weakened sobs shake my trembling form, the scalding liquid seeping through my trembling fingers as I give up the war to prevent the tears from seeping past their barrier and watch the frost continue to coat the window.


	50. A Question of Morals

**Alright, the Muse will be bluntly honest - she hated this chapter to the core. Everything felt wrong with it and kept her busy thinking about it for the longest time trying to find the right amount of emotion to text ratio, which, as you can probably tell, did not go well. I just hope the quality of this chapter didn't suffer too badly. If it did, I do apologize and will make it up to you later. Forgive the Muse. She's stressed. Hopefully, things will calm down a bit later for her and she'll get the remainder of this fic finished soon.**

**Chapter Fifty - A Question of Morals**

The beautiful thing about Time, is that it holds a certain sense of mercy that Fate does not. It can be exceptionally generous when it feels appropriate, or as vindictive as it deems itself necessary when angered. But, unlike its counterpart, Fate, Time plays fair in the game of life. It never speeds up nor slows down, creeping along with a sense of consistency that mankind cannot challenge nor change. You either waste it or embrace it. You cannot get rid of it nor blame the world's problems on it. Time doesn't change. It changes the person.

Right now, Time is my last hope of dragging myself out of the pit of despair Fate cast me into. With Time's help, all of my wounds will be stitched back together until they form the barely visible scars to my soul that define me. My life in the Turks. My losses. Everything. With Time's help, the pain will fade to a dull sting from which I will be able to call myself stronger from every time I am faced with its presence.

Look at me, broken and sobbing over a man I hardly knew. Unshakeable to the core, now rattled beyond my own understanding by the demons of the past stalking me in the shadows and my own mind. It feels as though I am trapped in the void of despair, slowly crawling along the cold, damp ground towards a light I know is there but cannot find.

Every turn. Every Twist. They all lead down the same old catacombs of failure and pain. Broken bodies, ruined lives, the products of the monster I have become. I wish there was a way to go back and prevent this all from happening. There is so much I would have done differently, but now -

He wouldn't want to see me like this, the strong-willed woman who stood against Barret for him, reduced to this in the blink of an eye. And, if I can help it, he won't. I cried for Zack. I wept for Cloud. I'll be damned if I do the same for myself. Its time I start acting like someone capable of doing this job. Someone to be respected and feared.

Someone like who I once used to be.

The AVALANCHE pack is in danger, and has never been moreso than at this very moment. Every second on that clock up there slips by, carrying with it the painful reality that at any moment, the Turks could seize us all, murder us in cold blood, and leave our bodies for the Blood Tastes of the wasteland. Time, precious, nonjudgmental time. Please be on my side for once. If even for a few extra seconds to put the pieces together into something I can use.

I need to save my comrades from Shinra's hellhounds. What better way to do so than be what I was trained to be - one of them.

Cloud. The brief sting of guilt strikes from the shadows, tearing at my heart. Please don't be mad. I care deeply about you, where you are, if you and Zack have met up yet, and if you are seeing me and the others in this state of mind upon your passing. I'm sorry, but this is what I must do.

It's colder than usual today, the usual rattle of steam through the pipes lining the cement brick wall of this basement pared down to a faint hiss of impending dread. Fire must have gone out again. Damn furnace.

I drag a hand through my auburn hair in defeat. Might as well get up. Lying here is not going to make me any warmer than I already am. A waste of valuable time. That's all that sleeping in this late is. What time is it anyway again?

Obviously late enough to make me the last one up today, if the thunderous stampede of feet across the floorboards above is any indication. Sounds like Barret's pissed about something. Probably something I did by attacking the President in pure rage and a short time later almost loosing my mind over Cloud's death. He has every right to be angry with me over the past twenty four hours' events.

With a sigh of defeat and that haunting feeling of dread layered across my soul, I take the first step across the cold cement floor with a light twinge to my upper shoulder blade as I pull the lever to bring the lift down to my level. I'm out of practice throwing smaller objects like knives. Still, at least I managed to hit the target. It could have been worse. If that would have been Rekka thrown, Shinra would be putting Rufus in office right now.

Kinda sorta makes me a tiny bit frustrated that I didn't land that blade higher on his torso. That smug bastard is probably having a good laugh about this whole scenario while he recovers in the cozy protection of his handlers. I'm afraid one cannot define swine as anything but the Shinra Executive Branch.

Feeding off of the planet for profit to grow fat and wealthy with greed. A herd of swine jostling for control and power, tramping on those of us who struggle to keep our heads above the mud created by these 'elected' animals. It's sickening how the system works.

Something big is going to happen soon. I can feel it. This burning feeling in the center of my soul, heightening my emotions and grating my nerves on edge with the taunt sinew of defensive strategy I've been molded to be. The Turk inside is restless with worry.

If I was right about Cloud's demise, what else might I be right about? This feeling. This god-awful feeling of being trapped, haunted, stalked by the swine of Shinra Inc. This feeling is different than the others, a sense of warranted urgency pushing it to the surface of the list of things to investigate.

Death is coming back. It's only a matter of time now before he snares us all with his bloodied scythe. That doesn't mean we can't resist his calls for a little while longer though.

"Morning Jessie." I draw away from my thoughts, watching the heavier man amble across the floor with his cup of morning coffee. "You doing any better today?"

"Time," I answer, picking through my papers as though the thought of Cloud's death is temporarily locked away and a little less destructive as it was hours ago. "It will take time."

"He was a good guy ya know. One of the most interesting I've ever met." Wedge takes a sip of the dark liquid and sits down at the table in the far corner of the first floor to watch the morning life unfold around Sector Seven through the window. "Tifa's taking it hard too. Apparently the kid was an old friend of hers. Poor woman."

Perhaps that is one of the main reasons I have to move on quickly or get trapped in the void. Zack was killed and closure given with each shovelful of earth my comrades and I dug into the sun-hardened earth. For Cloud, there is no closure, only smoke and a memory of what did occur.

I can't even imagine how Tifa feels about this. She actually knew the infantryman for many years before this. I've only known him for a few weeks at best, and even then, there is this part of him that seems so distant. Perhaps that is where I'll find my ability to distance myself from the crisis that occurred on that catwalk.

I miss the fair-haired man more than I can ever admit. He was a friend, someone I could count on with a genuine sense of caring and gentleness about him. I pray he is somewhere safe and he and Zack are joking about this incident.

Wedge raises an eyebrow and shakes his head at something he saw outside.

"Did you see the news yet?"

Do I really need to answer that? Of course not. I was too busy moping around for a few long hours.

"No," I reply, not terribly interested in the Shinra International News Network's coverage of our escapades. The facts are usually slightly more than skewed anyway.

"You have one hell of an arm on you with throwing blades. Ol' man Shinra had to have your knife surgically removed from his leg. An eighth of a centimeter closer and you would have gotten an artery. I'd be lying if I said I was not impressed and intimidated. Scared the hell outta Biggs too. Poor guy didn't know what to think."

Heh. I can have that effect on people. Usually it's the other guy in the battle who is more surprised though, especially when he sees Rekka being thrown in his direction. Allies have nothing to worry about, even when I'm in an angry mood.

Speak of the devil. Here comes my less than enthusiastic comrade now, a slight step of hesitation at finding me seated across from Wedge this early. I must look like hell to him.

"Good morning Biggs," I beat him to it, trying to appear a little less psychotic to him in this method. I don't want another lecture on being dangerous anytime soon. "Anything to report?"

He pauses, relief in his hazel eyes to see some sense of normality restored here. I'm not sure how long it will last, the frailty of the situation still not fully understood until we reach that bridge. But for now, it's improvement.

"Actually, yeah." He scratches the back of his neck, soot coating his hands from that furnace outside. "Barret wants to talk to us. Claims it's 'important' enough to wake you up about."

Important enough to talk to me about eh? I can only imagine. Probably another one of his lectures. Like I don't get enough of them from everyone else.

"Any idea what it might involve?" Might as well ask and get this over with so I have time to craft a good excuse for last night's weakness.

"Something. Barret seemed rather excited about it, so I'm assuming it involves those goddamn Shinra bastards."

When does it not? Alright. I'll bite. What could Barret be interested in now? I sure hope he doesn't expect me to craft any more bombs for reactors. That route is virtually impassible indefinitely and I've little enthusiasm for even attempting it. With I sigh, I move my chair aside for my comrade to take a seat at the table with us, awaiting our fearless leader and fellow barkeep to begin the impromptu meeting.

Tifa's regained most of her composure, the bloodshot eyes replaced with a well concealed sense of weariness. If she's suffering from a hangover, she's hellishly good at hiding it. Not that I can blame her though. Cloud's death struck hard, crueler to her than to me. She'll stay strong until the evening, and then, she too will fall to pieces again.

Barret waltzes through the door, any hint of Cloud's disappearance concealed with his usual brutish attitude towards the people responsible. He's hurting too. You can see it in the way he studies each of us, as though slightly uncertain of what to say.

"Shinra's committed an inexcusable crime," he begins, dark eyes skimming each of us. "We gotta figure out how to beat their sorry asses back to where they belong 'fore they do something' else."

"Yeah, that's all fine and dandy," Biggs scowls. "But those bastards were waiting for us. How in the hell do you suggest we beat them back when they know our every move?"

"If I knew do ya think I'd be askin'?"

Oh Biggs. You've gone and pissed him off even worse. Fantastic.

Tifa holds up a hand for silence, obviously not in the mood for this today. Good, because if she didn't do it, I would have.

"Calm down," she warns, rubbing her forehead to stave off a brewing, or already manifested headache. It's hard to tell with her. "We need to solve this issue diplomatically."

"Diplomatic my ass. Those goddamn bastards wouldn't know diplomacy if it bit them in the-"

"I don't think she means diplomatically towards them," Wedge sighs. "She means towards us."

Leave me to be the tyrant of the group then. Thanks guys. Alright. I won't get another chance, so looks like I have to put my thoughts in before someone gets shot at.

"You wanna know how to beat them-" I stand up, slapping the piece of paper against the surface of the table and pinning it there with my fingers. "You have to play like Shinra does."

My four comrades study the piece of paper I've placed before them, various levels of interest crossing their faces. Biggs nearly drops his cigarette in surprise, the pack of matches landing upon the table before he can light it. He makes no move to retrieve them, instead looking at a curious Wedge and somewhat startled Tifa.

I can feel Barret's dark eyes upon me for the two words scrawled across the surface of the paper in heavy ink pen - _Don Corneo_.

"What in the hell does he have to do with this Jess?"

Everything Barret. This man is your key to learning all there is to know about Shinra's dark practices and then some.

"A lot," I reply, fingers still pointing to the name. "Shinra is notorious for using an insider network to obtain information on its foes. Usually it is the Department of Administrative Research, which you know as the Turks. However, in many situations the Turks are merely used as ploy to retrieve information exchanged in private by Mr. Shinra and Don Corneo's more colorful conversations."

I should know. We always hated dealing with this man, especially when we were forced to pick up certain highly secretive 'documents' after a meeting of the two. Most involved the illegal blackmail contraband movement and questionable obtainment of land in mako rich regions as well as offshore banking accounts and the drug cartel plaguing the region. The usual piddling things all rulers have their grubby fingers in to make money.

"Corneo? That bastard ain't got a brain in his head and thinks more with his dick than he does with anything else. Ain't no way he's in on it."

You'd be surprised Barret. That man is a high profile mafia leader with territory in this region and several other locations, one of which is Wutai and maybe some alleyway in Junon. For being such an idiot, he sure knows how to get under the Turks' skins and stay out of prison. I wouldn't discount that he's behind getting the info that killed Cloud.

"I wouldn't exactly discount his involvement right away. Corneo's thugs have been lurking around quite a bit over the past few weeks, jabbing at AVALANCHE's sides and getting underfoot."

"That still don't make any sense Jessie." Our fearless leader sighs, obviously irritated by my own ability to back him into a corner without doing much of a damn thing. "If Corneo was behind it, wouldn't he have done something earlier?"

No. Men like him do not make moves without ensuring the pieces are in there proper places. He's planning something huge, that much I do know. But unless I can get my hands on some of the documents, a statement, or something, I can't do anything to turn the tables. It's like trying to put together a puzzle without having the picture on the box to go by. Not easy.

"Maybe he's been working on something bigger than what we've done to the reactors." It's just a suggestion with no merit at all. But I wouldn't put it past anyone for him to not be involved.

"You mean, like blow up Sector Seven's Reactor?" Wedge responds, a hint of worry in the way he holds the coffee cup.

Not quite what I had in mind, but not entirely impossible. Corneo is a coward on his own and only uses his henchmen to do his bidding for him. Blowing up stuff is not his style at all.

"It's entirely possible with a man like Corneo," I choose to reply. God forbid they ask how I know this sort of thing about a man I'm not supposed to know anything about lest I be labeled as one of _those _type of females. Explaining that my visits to 'The Don's Turf' usually entailed carrying a semi-automatic pistol in addition to Rekka and in the company of two equally armed male comrades might not be a good thing to tell them right now. "If you recall, there was a buzz about that place a while back with the Turks roaming around."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Biggs tries once again to light his cigarette, failing miserably. "Say this Corneo guy is filtering info to President Shinra. How do you suggest we get him to talk to us without getting a bullet in our asses? It ain't like he just lets men walk through that overly embellished doorway."

Wedge finishes off his cup of coffee and leans back in his chair almost casually the gears in his mind working in tune with the caffeine.

"That's an easy one. We got two women-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll shoot ya," Barret scowls, pointing the gun arm at my comrade threateningly. "I can't send them to a place like that!"

"Barret-" Tifa begins but is cut off by the angered leader of the pack.

"Ain't no way in hell." His eyes narrow angrily. "That man treats women like shit, usin' 'em once an throwin' them to the bottom feeders afterwards. Ain't no woman goin' there as long as I'm around. End of story."

At least the man gives a damn about us for a change. Can't say it's not admirable on his behalf.

"We might not have a choice boss." Biggs now has the gun arm trained upon himself, no doubt about to say something noble and equally stupid. "What if they raid this place without us knowin' it's coming? Them Turks will do a hell of a lot worse to everyone here, including Marlene. Shinra don't give a damn about women and children. They catch us, they'll torture us. I hear that Scarlet woman has a really twisted sense of humor."

Dear god. I think I would rather be executed by firing squad than end up as one of Scarlet's 'playthings'. She's a brutally terrifying woman with a taste for blood and jealous tendencies that make her a ruthless threat to everyone she deems unfit to live on the same planet as her. You even look at her wrong and it will be the last thing you ever do.

"How in the hell do ya expect this to work out then? It ain't like Corneo's just gonna tell 'em what he talked to Shinra about regardin' us. Ain't no way he'd do it without bedding 'em first."

"Shouldn't it be up to them?" Wedge suggests, pointing to Tifa and I. "They'd be the ones trying to get the information from him, not us. It isn't our place to decide any of this."

Yes. It should be up to us. Not that I'm thrilled about the choices offered though. Even the remote thought of spending a night with a man like Don Corneo is terrifying if not downright insane.

"Ye're right but-"

"I don't see why it would be such a big deal Barret," Tifa interrupts, as though the thought was weighing on her mind long before this conversation. "It wouldn't be difficult to get the information and relay it back here without incident. The Don's always looking for women."

Think about what you're saying Tifa. This is Don Corneo we're talking about. Do you really want to do this sort of thing?

"But Tifa-" Barret tries to protest, failing miserably and looking towards me as if I can stop this from happening. I'll try my best, for Cloud, and Zack. They wouldn't want to see either of us in this situation.

"It'll be-"

"Not so fine," I cut her off, slamming my palms against the uneven table. "There are better ways of obtaining information than such a degrading and dangerous method. Think about how Cloud would react to something so preposterous. For Holy's sake, show some self respect."

I'm entering into a fire fight without much hope of surviving very long. There are just some things you never say to a woman like Tifa, and, I've crossed the line. Quite a few actually.

There's fire in that look, angry, destructive fire. She hates me for the comments made. I can tell. If it wasn't for Barret, Biggs, and Wedge being here, there is a high chance she would have broken my jaw and nearly killed me for it. Thankfully, she's got more discipline than that.

"You have no right to mention what he would think of this."

Biggs stands between me and Tifa, while Barret attempts to restore order to the rapidly deteriorating situation.

"I'm just stating a fact."

It's true. Last night, I wasn't the one in my right mind. Today, it's her. I'm only returning the favor of being the one signaled out. Vindictive, yes. Necessary, quite possibly. That's who I am. And if putting everyone's safety first makes me the bad guy, then so be it. I'm tired of pissing around with this "He's right, she's right," bullshit. There isn't a happy medium. There never was.

"Both of ya's, knock it the hell off right now. Ain't no reason to be at one another's throats 'bout this. Damn spikey haired bastard wouldn't want either of ya to go there."

"I do not care what Cloud thinks of this. He's dead."

You don't mean that Tifa. There's no way you don't have some inkling of worry about the situation, or wonder of what Cloud might think. You know it too.

"It's a bad idea that's not worth the consequences." There, I said it. My two cents for the week and regret that I even brought the subject up to begin with. Sadly, the subject is only going to get worse. I can sense it.

Biggs, having given up trying to smoke that cancer stick of his, studies us both with a sense of curiosity and lustful wonder only a man can possess. Forget it. I don't even want to know what's going through that cluttered mind of his right now.

"No offense Jess, but I don't think you'd be the type Corneo would be looking for anyway. He likes the busty, curvy, tall, street corner, experienced type."

Now wait just a second. Just because I'm not exactly built to repopulate the world doesn't mean that I don't have some semblance of how to pull off a mission like this without losing any of my clothing. It's called brains before beauty buddy. Just because I don't go to bed with every male on the planet doesn't mean I don't have other ways of obtaining the information I want. You'd be surprised at how quickly a swift kick to the crotch gets a point across. Follow that up with a few other threats to certain anatomy parts and someone like Corneo will tell you anything you want to know. No loss of clothing required.

Being a Turk had some advantages. Interrogations and knowing how to utilize them to your fullest advantage was one of the most useful.

I can see Wedge searching for his second cup of coffee. Barret does not even dare to respond to the comment. Even Tifa seems a little embarrassed by my comrade's 'outburst'.

Personally, I'm not certain who will murder him first, but it looks like I might have first shot at it. Fortunately for him, I don't feel like killing him today. There are more important things to do.

"Trust me," I respond with that flat warning in my voice. "I've no intention of setting foot in Corneo's mansion, or anywhere close for that matter."

Looks like me and the Shinra Database are going to be spending some quality time together. I'd rather be no place else after this little backfired suggestion of seeking advice, considering that I originally just wanted to capture and interrogate the two bozos who keep stalking us. They're henchmen. They'd be easy to get to Corneo through.

Tifa shakes her head at the men of AVALANCHE's behavior regarding women and looks at me to convey the thoughts that despite what I think about my comments, she really isn't terribly pissed off at me for it. I've made my valid point for the day, but her mind was made up a while ago. She intends on doing this, despite anything Barret or I might say.

I swear she's gonna get herself killed.

"If I was going to go after this information, what would be the best way to do it?"

"Same way they all do," Biggs's interest perks at the thought. I swear this guy needs to be reminded that he's a married man. He still wears his ring. "Get a skimpy dress with a tiara. Show some leg, maybe a pair of heels, tie your hair back, and he won't be able to resist ya. Just make sure your, 'assets' are in clear vie-ow. What the hell was that for Jessie?"

"Being a chauvinist, non-sensitive, perverted ass."

At this, even Barret cannot resist a chuckle at such a serious conversation that I've long since given up on trying to regain control of. She's damned and determined to go after Corneo about Shinra, and I'm not about to stop her. We need all of the help we can get. Some sort of hint anyway.

"What?" He rubs his shoulder with a wince. "I was merely stating the truth!"

"I think she can handle dressing herself and doesn't need your 'assistance' in that way. Right Tifa?"

She nods, still somewhat amused by the exchange. I'm not even sure if I'm handling this situation correctly to begin with. It's too damn awkward.

"Doesn't Corneo have that carriage box thing his footmen drive to collect the 'fillies' for his stable of honeys?"

"The carriage is for the 'sophisticated' willing, women. That bastard uses brute force to round up the 'fillies' for his torture chambers," Barret explains, brow furrowed in thought. Remind me to never ask how he knows all of this. I don't want to know.

"So how do we summon this carriage?" Tifa asks, looking bolder than she really should for such an assignment.

Wedge shakes his head and tries to prevent the coffee from sloshing out of the cup.

"Guess one of us sends notice to the Don that we've got a girl for him. And then we wait."

Three quarters of an hour and one very convincing letter penned in feminine script which I'm ashamed to admit belong to yours truly later, the heavy scratch of talons over the concrete and dirt street fills the air from the far street beneath the crumbling steel archway leading to Sector Six's infamous Wall Market.

He stands a good six feet tall at the shoulder, golden feathers slicked down with a light shimmer to the illuminating mako lights, each talon placed with even, deliberate care against the cracked excuse for a street. Beak chirping proudly, the massive, elegant bird's beady little black eyes focus towards the buildings in an almost casual manner with the flick of the gold plated reins driving him onward. I don't believe I've ever seen a chocobo of this caliber, and even if he's not an authentic, certified pedigree golden one, he is still one hell of a bird none the less. Guess the Don doesn't do things half-ass when there's a woman involved.

Golden buckles on a black leather harness plated with gold and ornate engravings into the rich supple leather. The burgundy carriage trailing behind at a slight tilt to the left is no less fashionable of the Don's taste. Rich sanded carvings of dragons and inlayed with flecks of silver to add an appeal of shimmering glamour to its surface. Glass windows tinted with obsidian darkness with an odd little footstool that hovers close to the ground so that the lady in waiting can climb aboard with dignity and comfort.

The coachman gives a prompt "whoa" in front of Seventh Heaven, his cap clean and dark vest ironed. With an almost polite glance towards our 'inferior' porch, he appears to be having second thoughts, especially with the dark skinned man seated in the rocking chair, sending him threatening looks.

You manage to screw this up Barret, and I swear I'll Blizzaga your ass for it. Writing that letter, even with the help of the self-proclaimed 'masters of seduction', was probably the most uncomfortable piece of writing I've ever been forced to pen. Someone remind me to throw that pen into the furnace when the opportunity arises.

"Which one is the Don's next sweetheart?" the coachman asks, a leering sense of lustful addiction in those sinister eyes.

"I am." Tifa steps onto the porch, her sky blue dress ruffling with her strides towards the carriage. It's not a high class trashy looking thing, but it was the best we could do with so little time and resources. A few hemmed stitches here, a tasteful fold and embroidered cross stitch there. Not half bad in my personal opinion.

She steps with this sort of false enthusiasm in her stride, raven hair cascading over her shoulders with this sense of seductiveness about her. The coachman gives a wolf whistle of surprise, obviously bought by the display as he scrambles off of the driver's seat and opens the door for her with all the politeness of a lusting hog.

And without paying the rest of us any heed, he climbs back into the driver's seat once the door is secured and flicks the reins, the chocobo moving forward with a wark of acknowledgment.

From the window, Tifa gives us a thumbs up and a smile to let us know that everything is going according to plan. I sure hope it does anyway. Corneo is a dangerous man with a lot of resources at his disposal. We won't be able to run to her rescue if anything bad happens either.

"Jessie. Biggs." Barret watches the carriage draw away, the elegant chocobo warking pleasantly. Uh oh. Now what does he want?

His eyes are dark, as though pondering something about the way the driver's smirking. Even Biggs is looking at our fearless leader with that sense of curiosity about him that questions what it is we are about to be asked to do next.

"Yes boss?"

"Follow her."

Follow her? What exactly does he expect us to be able to do anyway? It's not like we're involved in any of this. Well, not really. From a technical standpoint we are, but as far as seeing to it that she is 'safe' for the Don, I'm not too certain I quite understand my orders. Does he want us to follow the carriage to Wall Market? Or does he want us to follow Tifa to the Don's? That's a bit too open for my tastes. But, from the sound of his voice, it translates into something that is mutual amongst us.

A lack of trust.

For all we know, this man could kill her and leave her body alongside the street for the vultures. Guess he wants us to make sure that driver doesn't pull anything on the drive.

It's not my place to ask about Barret's concerns right now, but, based on the fact that he chose me and Biggs to follow, he's obviously wants us to be able to keep up with the carriage and not fall behind. Good. Chasing things is one of my specialties.

Corneo's grand specimen of a chocobo must not have been anything special to look at on the racetracks, that's for sure. More than likely, an odd filler bird on the cards that needed a set amount of entries to even run, if you figure in the time that it takes for Biggs and I to catch up at a fairly slow pace.

"You think he's gonna pull any funny business?" My comrade asks, somewhat amused by the bird's happy-go-lucky persona about drawing the carriage through the dismal streets.

"Not the right person to be asking Biggs." I duck behind a rigid piece of steel as the cart makes a left hand turn down another alleyway towards the illuminated gathering of buildings we call Wall Market. "Of course I think something's going to happen."

He trots along beside me after the threat has passed. Looks like we're almost there. I can see the Don's Mansion from here.

"Yeah," he pants, jogging to keep up. "I know how ya feel. Old Corneo's up to his tricks again and that usually won't end well for us. I just hope it isn't something we can't handle."

The coach veers back to the right, putting us in direct view of the entire area once again. Looks like we can stop following that carriage now. It's well on its way to the Don's and I doubt anything is going to happen to Tifa from that coachman.

Still. Better spend some time observing just in case. Barret might try to shoot us all if we don't.

I must be losing my mind.

That person - over by the dilapidated, rundown excuse for a gym. I crawl onto one of the piles of scrap metal in the shadows for a better look.

That almost looks a little bit like, dare I even think it, Aerith. Long brown hair, annoying pink dress with the pull over jacket-vest thing.

What would someone like her be doing in a place like Wall Market at this hour? It's honestly none of my business, but it is still a curious site indeed. She's a little far from Sector Five's church in the slums and the usual town around that area to be on a casual visit.

"What's up Jessie?" Biggs has managed to climb up here beside me, attempting to see what I'm looking at. I swear he's too damn nosey for his own good sometimes.

"Nothing."

She's looking at something, or someone, with a hint of amusement. Wonder what's so funny about the dress shop?

A timid flash of blond hair pokes around the corner from behind a rack of dresses outside of the building. Oh dear. Aerith is either extremely rude for laughing at the unfortunate creature appearing from the direction of the gym, or she knows her.

Zack sure knows how to pick them. I swear.

They're saying something, from the looks of it, discussing shimmering, elegant, supple silk dresses. Uh oh. Tifa's got competition at the Don's.

But Aerith? For the love of Holy, I hope my lip reading skills have suffered from my time in the slums. She and her 'friend' are selecting the proper dressing attire for a place like that.

Long, blond hair, typically out of place for such a manly looking excuse for a woman she's choosing to take with her to the Don's. A blue ribbon to tie it back into a ponytail worthy of comment. She looks uncomfortable, if not a little bit embarrassed by the scenario and fact that Aerith seems to be the one in charge of the situation.

That almost looks a little bit like Cloud in some freakishly weird way. Or at least, a weird, feminine version of the timidly meek infantryman.

Nah. Couldn't be possible. Even if he was still alive, Cloud wouldn't be _that _type. I think it's high time we go back to talk to Barret about our mission, before the rest of my mind opts for insanity.

"You ready to head back Jess."

"Yeah. Let's go."

I chance another look at the pair before I turn to leave, but they've vanished. Guess I was just seeing things.


	51. Judgment Day

**Whew. The Muse is on fire this week. (Literally. Kiba managed to somehow catch her foot on fire with his newly discovered demonic wolf puppy powers). Somehow, she managed to get some hint of motivation back and this chapter kinda sorta ran away with her. That and she noticed that there is _finally_a character category for Cissnei. About time. :And yes, she did manage to get her long overdue cup of coffee for a change: Your reward is this chapter with another soon to follow. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**And don't forget to vote in the new poll, which will be used to determine if I actually want to put the time and effort into writing a sequel to this fic. (The Muse is a busy creature with extremely limited time for fan fiction lately. She'll only write a sequel if there is demand for it. And yes reviewers who requested the story to end differently than the game, I am listening to you. You just gotta be patient and see how it all ends.) ;)**

**Chapter Fifty One - Judgment Day**

Ah yes, for the first time in years, I have been given what could very well be one of the most interesting missions of my not so stellar career. While most people would absolutely loath the idea of putting a former Turk in charge of something so valuable, I believe the idea behind this was to keep me busy while the other members of the proverbial pack actually took the time to unwind from all of the stress we've been under for the past twenty four hours since Tifa went to see Corneo about his connection to Shinra.

After all, a bored watchdog is a rather destructive one as the old saying goes.

"Aunt Jessie! Aunt Jessie!"

Of course, having a rather frantic five year old jump on your arm while you're trying to sleep is only the half of it. Who gave this kid sugar before bedtime anyway? Probably Biggs. He's been known to make things complicated for me.

Four o'clock. Guess it is time to get up anyway. Alright. Let's see what the problem is that would lead to her seeking me out so early.

"What's wrong kiddo?"

"There's a monster under my bed! It ate Kupo!" She frantically squeals, looking every bit as innocent and bold as a five year old can given the circumstances. Kupo. Kupo. Oh yes, her stuffed moogle. So something tried to eat that wretched thing.

"A monster eh?" I yawn, trying to wake up. The one night my demons decide to take a vacation and stay out of my dreams, and I end up playing monster hunter Jessie for a stuffed moogle. Someone needs to kick Fate in the ass for this. "What kind of monster?"

"A big one!" She spreads her arms wide to demonstrate this thing's size. "With razor teeth and sharp claws and a growl like thunder!"

Aren't they all. So I'm going to be hunting this incredible generic monster who likes to eat small stuffed moogles and terrify little kids in the dead of night. Sounds like my kind of mission.

Then again, Tifa did leave the kid in my care, and until she gets back, I'm technically playing the role of fulltime caretaker. If slaying monsters keeps her out of my hair and safe, then slaying monsters I shall partake of doing.

Kids aren't exactly my favorite creatures on the planet, but who can resist such a request. After all, I'm fairly certain I annoyed Tseng a few times in my youth with the monsters under the bed philosophy on life. Turns out they were just innocent shadows, but still. To a five year old, the most terrifying things on the planet. Might as well do what I can and hope that this Kupo character didn't wander too far.

"Alright Marlene." I toss the blanket aside, flinching at the cold air of the basement. I just lit that damn furnace a few hours ago. It couldn't have gone out already. "Where'd ya see this monster?"

"He's in my room! Under the bed."

Good. Your generic monster. If it was anything outside of a window or something we might have to do a little more than investigate. Someone would probably get hurt.

Marlene scurries out of the basement, her footie pajamas dusty from walking across the floor. Looks like I gotta do laundry today as well. Being a homemaker sucks.

Lesser of the two evils, I remind myself. It could always be worse. At least I'm not having the kind of night Tifa is having. I shudder at the thought. That is something I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.

Slaying monsters. Well, I suppose it could be fun. Let's see. How to make this fun for all of us. I think I have an idea.

"Whoa, wait a second kiddo." I stop her from running back up the stairs to face this 'monster' of hers. "You need some sort of weapon."

She blinks, slightly terrified of what we're going to be facing and the fact that she almost ran right into its clutches. What can I say? We're gonna hunt a monster, we're gonna do this the right way. Let's see. What can we use for a weapon now?

"Here, you carry this." I hand her the worn corn broom leaning against the wall. It isn't much of a weapon, but it's the best I can do and the most harmless of the arsenal of weaponry we have.

"It's a broom." she looks slightly puzzled. "How is this gonna-"

"No," I correct her, using the power of imagination to assist her in slaying her own monsters. "To you, a broom. To Mr. Monster up there, it's a terrifying sword."

"Really?" She appears hopeful at the prospect, clutching the broom tighter and appearing to look brave.

"Yep. We're gonna scare Mr. Monster away for good." I grab a flashlight and hand her my cloak to use as a cape. "Now when we encounter Mr. Monster, be sure to tell him that he needs to go away and leave Kupo and you alone. Alright? Monsters are afraid of little girls with brooms."

"Nuh uh Aunt Jessie. What kind of monster is afraid of a broom?" She looks a little doubtful of my monster slaying abilities.

"Well, it's a-" Crap. What kind of monster _would_be afraid of a broom? You walked right into this one Cissnei. "It's a dust monster. He's afraid of brooms because you can just sweep him out the door and he won't come back ever again. Kinda like the sock monster."

"There's a sock monster?" She cowers behind my legs, eyes hidden beneath my cloak, trembling in fear.

"Don't worry," I assure her, taking the lead. "He only likes to eat one of the socks in a pair. He's a sockatarian. He doesn't like to eat moogles, so he won't bother you."

"You really mean that Aunt Jessie?"

"Of course. None of the really bad monsters would ever be allowed to hurt you or Kupo. They have to get past me, Uncle Wedge, Biggs, Aunt Tifa, and your papa first. We don't let any monsters hurt anyone. Promise."

"But they got Uncle Cloud didn't they?" She averts her eyes, trying to prevent herself from crying at the words. I stop before her room and kneel down to her level, looking her in the eye.

"Marlene. I promise you that the same monster that went after Cloud will not come after you."

If they do, they will see my full potential, and it will not be a pleasant site. No one from Shinra will harm Barret's little girl in the way they did Cloud. I swear that if need be, I will fight them to the death over it.

Harming an adult is one thing, but a child, that's inexcusable territory that none of the attackers will escape from with their lives. I can promise that.

"But what if he takes away you and Uncle Biggs and Wedge? What if he gets papa and Tifa!" She near hysterics now, the first set of tears creeping to the surface. Poor kid. Cloud's death affected her more than any of us would have thought possible. I draw her close in a hug. The gesture is foreign and not at all pleasant, but if it helps the kid to cope with the scenario at hand, I'll suffer through it.

"Don't worry," my words are more confident that I am. At any moment, Shinra could attack us, and at any moment, they could overpower every one of us with their guns and soldiers. I'm about to make a promise I might not be able to keep. "They won't. I'll make sure of it."

"But-"

"Grownups have a special way of dealing with the really bad monsters Marlene." Yeah, we usually end up shooting at one another and trying to tear each other apart in desperation. Not a fun event to witness. "Trust me. Any monster who messes with us is asking for trouble. Now, let's go get Kupo back from this monster."

It's not much of an explanation, but for now, it will appease the child and hopefully comfort her a bit. She nods in understanding, grasping the broom tightly and trying to keep from tripping over the fabric of my cloak dragging around her feet. All she would have needed was a pan for a helmet and she would have been set.

Oh this room is dreadfully dark. Wonder what happened to that nightlight Tifa acquired for her. No wonder the poor kid is so frightened. I feel around the left wall for the lightswitch to little avail. Heh. Blasted thing must have changed walls on us.

Wait. No. I think I found it. Okay. Good. Now to slay a monster.

"You ready Marlene?"

"Yeah." She doesn't sound terribly confident about the issue. Well that's not gonna sit well with Mr. Monster.

"Gotta sound a little more confident than that kiddo. Even if you're afraid of Mr. Monster, you still gotta show him who's boss. Now, are you ready to scare him away?"

"Yeah!" She shouts, swinging the broom and accidentally catching my knee. Gods this child has a swing like a baseball player. I grit my teeth and flip the light switch, the mako light spilling into the cluttered excuse for a room and pooling in the center by the bed.

"Did I get him?" Her eyes are hopeful, ready to swing the broom again. Yeah, you got him alright. Damn that stings.

"I think so. Okay. Now let's find Kupo."

The child drops the broom, thank god, and runs about in frantic search of her stuffed animal, calling its name repeatedly in hopes that it will answer. I limp after her, trying not to favor my knee too much. Wouldn't want to create any more panic that I might have been attacked by the 'monster' on its escape.

Let's see. If I was a stuffed moogle. Where might I have gone? I scan the room in search of oddities, finding little for my search. Wait. That might be something, over in the far corner, behind the bed.

Ah ha. Slightly grayed worn fur, beady little eyes. Looks like Kupo alright. Marlene will be happy at least.

"Look," I smile, retrieving the stuffed moogle from behind the bed frame. "Is this Kupo? Looks like the big mean monster decided not to eat him after all. Probably tasted bad."

"Kupo!" She giggles and hugs the creature to her chest with this look of gratitude about her. "You're okay!"

Heh. I step over to the wall where the nightlight rests on the floor, having fallen out due to the poorly fitted outlet to the wall. Hopefully this old thing will stay in place this time and keep the monsters at bay for a little while longer.

The slight pitter patter of feet drawing closer catch my attention as I study my work with this light.

"He alright?" I ask, the five year old swinging the moogle into the air playfully.

"Thanks Aunt Jessie. I knew you'd rescue him."

Rescue. Not sure if I can call it that. But that smile lets me know that I did something right for a change. At least she got Kupo back.

"No problem. Now, let's get you to bed."

Ten minutes and a haphazard attempt at a bedtime story involving flying chocobos and a very pleasant Bahamut and Ifrit at a tea party later, I finally manage to get the kid tucked in for the night and retreat back downstairs.

"Trouble with Marlene?" Wedge sips his coffee and looks over the newspaper at my arrival, that knowing look about him. I take a seat beside him with a sigh.

"Monster hunting. It stole her moogle again."

He snorts in amusement, a twinkle in his eye.

"Ah yes. Gotta watch those Moogle Stealers. They're the worst kind. A sockatarian was it?"

Oh come on. Everyone has to have some fun with it every once in a while. I retrieve a portion of the paper detailing the state of the president's recovery with a hint of a smirk.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. It was a dreadful monster. We chased it away though with the broom."

"You're good at this ya know," he sips his coffee with a look at me that I've rarely seen before.

"Good at what?" I can't help but ask. The only thing I'm good at is getting into trouble and causing it. Not much else. He smirks.

"Dealing with children. That little girl can be a handful at times."

Marlene? I'd hardly call her a handful. A challenge yes, but a handful, not quite. Besides, she's a good kid. Smart at least.

"What do you mean by that?"

Coffee. The elixir of life. I think this is one of those days I'll get myself a cup. It's far too early to be up and far too late to return to bed. Yes. Coffee is in order.

"Kids." He replies pleasantly. "You seem to get along with them pretty well."

Oh. Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but children aren't exactly my favorite things in the world to watch over. Marlene is different. She actually listens and behaves. But as for Turks and children, that's an accident waiting to happen. We just don't get involved with things like that.

After all, take a look at watching Rufus grow up and you have your answer why.

"Don't get your hopes up. Kids are not in my future." I retrieve my cup of coffee with the creamer and sugar, taking a sip of it. God this stuff is bitter today. Biggs must have made it. But, coffee is coffee. And there is no better drink to deal with such a conversation lead by a comrade without a clue.

"Really now? Not even when you meet Mr. Right, get married, and end up living in a big house above the plate somewhere?"

"Ain't happening." I respond curtly. "Don't want a husband, kids, big house above the plate." And I don't. I honestly don't. All that brings is something to worry about, and pain, lots of pain. Husbands run off and get killed, leaving children to mothers who don't have the ability to care for them, or just don't care. Children end up in orphanages growing up to become hateful human beings. I don't need emotional baggage like that.

"Aw, ya don't mean that Jess."

Yes. Yes I do. And no one is going to talk me out of it. Turks like solitude, lots of solitude. I'm no exception. If getting attached to someone brings the kind of pain Cloud did when he died, then I want nothing to do with any of it. I was weak and I suffered for it.

"Heh heh. One of these days you'll be swept off your feet by Mr. Right. Just you wait and see."

"_Right_. Poor sap would have to be either blind or rather bold to even attempt it." How did we end up on this subject again? That's right. Marlene.

"But he's out there, somewhere, just waiting for that golden opportunity to find you. Mark my words. You'll end up getting out of this dump sooner or later to start a real life."

A real life…I wouldn't know what a real life was if someone pointed it out to me and led me through it step by step. We all know how far I managed to get on my own. Sitting in a seedy little slum bar discussing my future nonexistent husband never to be over a cup of incredibly bitter coffee with a fellow terrorist. Yeah. Compared to being a Turk, this is rather pleasant in its own morbid sort of way.

Quarter 'til five. Guess I should check the database to see if anything interesting might have been sent. Part of the usual routine if you wish to get technical about it. The 'official' start to my day.

"Someday Wedge." I gather my coffee cup and head towards the basement. "You never know. Maybe someday."

"That's the spirit Jess."

Spirit. Yeah right.

Setting my cup of coffee on the overturned crate turned worktable some time later, I manage to hop skip my way into the Shinra Database as usual, looking at the same old files that usually greet me. Basic stuff. Tseng's mission reports for redundant patrols and so forth. Nothing terribly interesting. Looks to be another boring day without anything to go on.

Let's hope Tifa's having better luck than I am right now.

Wait. What's this? I scroll back up through Tseng's e-mails moreso out of curiosity than actual concern. A new e-mail arrived in the box less than an hour ago, and with it, a reply - from Rude.

"What in the hell?" I click on the bolded lettering, bringing the contents of the e-mail up on the screen. Tseng rarely, if ever, sends Rude an order through the e-mail system, especially one like this.

"Something wrong Jessie?" Biggs inquires from his corner, blanket drawn up to his chin with a yawn.

"I'm not sure."

Why would Tseng suspend Rude from his routine morning patrol of Sector Seven all of a sudden? That man's been walking those streets around this time for years, never missing one day. But to be pulled off of the patrol, in no short sense, rather curtly by Tseng, no details offered as to why. Something doesn't fit. Stranger yet, is Rude's own inquiry of reply as to why he can't patrol that area all of a sudden.

I don't like this at all. Whatever Tseng is up to is not something to be taken lightly.

The coffee. Something's strange about it. I lean closer for a better look, the faint ripple across the surface catching my eye. Vibration. What in the hell's going on here today?

"Hey Biggs. Take a look at this would ya?" I pick the coffee cup up and set it back down, watching the vibrations resume as though they had never been interrupted to begin with.

"What am I looking at?" My comrade leans over my shoulder, eyebrow raised at the surface of the coffee.

"That." I point to the ripples, setting a pencil beside the cup and watching it roll slightly to the right. Something is very wrong here. These ripples seem to be increasing by the second. Almost like an earthquake prior to a volcanic eruption.

But, Midgar wasn't constructed over a volcano that I know of. Lifestream eruption maybe? Very possible. With all the damage we've done in the past few days, we could have set off a reaction of some sort, dangerously unbalancing everything.

Unless-

"Biggs. Get Barret. He needs to see this to believe it."

"I don't get it Jess. It's just a ripple in a coffee cup-"

"Get Barret." That sense of urgency snaps me into full Turk mode. There is only one thing aside from seismic activity that would possibly be the cause of this. And it doesn't bode well for us. "Now!"

"Jessie?"

I bolt for the lift, half climbing to the first floor in a fit of urgent panic. Gods let me be wrong about this. Don't be the worst case scenario.

"What's the matter-" Wedge looks up in surprise as I bolt by, throwing the rickety door open and lunging onto the porch. I've barely enough time to grasp the railing before I can trip and fall into the cold dirt below.

God, this is not happening. Please tell me I'm not seeing this. Please.

Damn you Tseng. Damn you all to hell.

In the distance, the echo of chopper blades and the barely noticeable flicker of lights. The pillar. Shit. They're heading towards the pillar.

"Barret!" I practically scream, praying I can get everyone and anyone within range's attention. My hands are trembling, my strides a quivering panicky motion as I rush to the pantry cupboard.

Rekka. I need Rekka for this. Come on damn it.

The lock gives a pathetic crack as I ram the pin into the keyhole, trying to recall how Reno did this. Left, up, right, down, left. The click greets my ears with a sound of salvation.

Fight like a Turk, die like a Turk.

"God damn woman. What in the hell's all the yellin' 'bout down here?"

I grasp Rekka's steel surface in my hands, the well balanced shuriken as much a part of me as my very spirit as I turn to face Barret, my heart racing in panic. He called Rude out for his own safety. The pillar. Gods. They're going to bring that pillar down.

"The pillar," I struggle to contain my terror, failing miserably. "They're going to bring down Sector Seven's pillar."

"You're shittin' me." Biggs grabs his .45 with a look of equal horror towards the doorway, the echo of chopper blades now audible against the cocoon of steel hovering above it. Millions of tons of steel, concrete, and iron. Oh god. Everyone down here-

You can do something about this, the inner watchdog growls, Rekka frigid in my hands as I equip Blizzaga to the materia slot. I can do something about this.

I have no choice.

"You sure about this?" Wedge practically pleads for me to be wrong about what I feel deep within my soul. That feeling.

Death walks amongst each of us this day, maniacal grin plastered across his face and scythe at the ready. We cannot run but towards him this day.

"Awright, let's show them bastards what we're made of." Barret loads his gun arm with that foreign look caught somewhere between fury and fear in his eyes. We are all that stands between Shinra and Sector Seven.

I too, shall gladly forfeit my life so that others may survive.

Biggs and Wedge nod in silent understanding, their weapons in hand as we start for the door at a hurried run.

Today, Time is no ally to us.

The light tap of feet descending the stairwell catch my attention, prompting me to slow my pace momentarily as Barret vanishes through the doorway with Biggs in the lead.

"Why's everyone running?" Marlene rubs the sleep from her eyes, clutching Kupo to her chest and watching our disorganized chaos rapidly materializing around her. What are you doing up? I set Rekka aside and kneel down to her level once more quickly.

"Marlene." The urgency in my words makes the child freeze in fear. "You need to stay here okay. Do not go with anyone. Understand? We'll be right back."

"What's wrong Aunt Jessie? You seem scared."

"Remember those monsters we talked about?" I gotta hurry and catch up with them before they get into trouble. "One of them is out there and we have to go get rid of it. So I need you to listen to me and stay here. Understood? I promise I'll be back."

She nods, cowering behind the bar as I retrieve my weapon and bolt for the door, a part of me torn at leaving the kid to fend for herself in this situation. I've no choice in the matter this time. If I don't go, she'll be killed when that plate falls.

Please, I pray. Please let me fight well today and be victorious in this fight. Help me to fight like a true warrior and protect those I care deeply about. If I must die in battle, may it not be in vain, but with honor and success for my cause.

The ground rushes by with my strides, the Turk within awake and adrenaline surging through my veins. The pillar. I can see the pillar, aglow with the unnatural mako lights of the Shinra Blackhawk's spotlights. We're running out of time.

Barret swears under his breath, readying his gun arm in search of a foe to blast into oblivion for this, falling further to the rear as Biggs and I surge ahead to the lead. These streets. I've never seen them so foreboding. The lights flicker their warnings as we turn the corner for the chain-link fence surrounding the mighty flight of stairs spiraling upward with their unsteady imposing sense of superiority.

The gate's locked. Shit. Nevermind. Let Barret deal with it. We don't have the time for gates right now.

Biggs, reading my mind, smirks and tucks the .45 back into its holster, lunging for the fence and scrambling upwards as though the obstacle is a mere nuisance. Guess that training for the Wutai military comes in handy after all.

I grasp the smooth links with a grunt of challenge, the steel grating against my leather half gloves as I draw myself upwards with Rekka slung over my shoulder. Biggs lands with a look of surprise as I grasp the space between the barbs of the lethal wire strung across the top, carefully hauling myself over with plenty of room to make the jump without snagging my flesh on the barbs.

"Holy shit Jess. I never pegged you to be the climbing type! Damn." He retrieves the .45 as I land with a soft thud, flipping the lever to open the gate for our two other comrades quickly. Even Barret looks slightly surprised by the motion.

What? Never seen a girl scale a barbed chain-link fence before? By all means you ain't seen nothing yet.

"You'd be surprised at what I used to do for a living." I hold Rekka in front of me, catching sight of the flickers of light and thunderous echo of boots across aluminum hurrying into position at the command of drill sergeants. Damn, they brought the whole army didn't they?

"No kidding." He smirks, slightly nervous by the seriousness in my tone. He starts up the aluminum steps at a brisk trot, taking them two at a time towards the first platform with me in tow.

A flick of silver against a backdrop of murky shadow from the upper right. God no.

"Biggs! Wait! Stop-" I cry out, the words deafened by the explosion of violent power released with the clicking of triggers.

Rekka shrills with the ricochet of bullets across its surface, my eyes wide with terror at the horrific scene unfolding before me in slow motion.

He jerks backwards with a cry of surprise, clutching his abdomen with the sickening crunch of his arm colliding with the railing of the platform riser, the force nearly throwing him over.

"Biggs!" Rekka whisks through the air, the cry of pain from the infantryman who fired fresh with the scent of blood upon the frigid winter air. God, this is bad. I frantically struggle to locate the wound amidst the torrent of blood flowing from the vicious wound.

He's bleeding too badly. H-he's not going to- Please. Biggs. Don't.

Death, like a leering demonic presence lurks along the fringes of the shadows, his evil sneer piercing my mind with those impish hazel eyes looking up at me in pain. He's too pale, his life seeping away with each second of Time's grasp.

"Heh," he gasps, the sting of bitter pain deep in his voice, jaw set at the realization that he is going to die. Gunfire. I can hear it with Barret's shout of unleashed rage. Oh Biggs. Please. Please don't leave me here. Not you too. "Guess I was careless."

"Don't say that, please." I beg, trembling as he touches my arm with his blood drenched hand weakly. "Never say that."

"Promise me something Jess," he wheezes, flinching as he leans further across the railing for support. "Promise me you won't get yourself killed today."

"Biggs-"

I can't make that promise. I just can't.

"Jessie," the urgency in his tone tears at my soul. "Do this for me. Don't let them kill you."

A heavy object presses into my blood slicked hand, his cold hands shaking even worse. His .45.

"I-I can't-"

I hear them, hurrying to take the place of their fallen comrades taken out by Rekka and Barret and Wedge's shooting. They won't be the last. I can promise that.

"Take it Jessie." His eyes narrow in concentrated thought. "You know how to use it. Don't let those bastards get away with anymore murders today."

A heavy burden I'm not sure I can carry the entire distance. I tuck the .45 into my belt with a nod of understanding.

"You have my word Biggs. I will. I promise."

"Good. Now get going. I'll be alright. I'm just a little tired."

We both know that this too is a lie in the great tapestry of life. He will not be okay.

I collect Rekka, the blood fresh upon the silver edges. Today, there is no guilt over the death of the enemy. Today, there is only vengeance and death.

The least I can do, is allow him to die with dignity.

I continue climbing the stairs towards the top, not daring to look back as the tears trail down my face.

Wedge, poor soft hearted Wedge is waiting two platforms up when I arrive, his revolver trained upon the scattered dead around him while Barret continues towards the top, firing randomly at anything he can possibly hit. The sense of sorrow in his eyes tears me to shreds even worse, the cold chill of Death's fingers nipping at my own soul prompting me to run faster towards my comrade.

"Is he-"

I nod, biting back the sting of tears as Wedge looks downward with a shake of his head.

There are no words that can be exchanged for our sorrow over the loss of our comrade. No words need be spoken. That look in Wedge's eyes tells me all I need to know to hold Rekka proudly in my grasp. Today, we fight, and die like warriors.

Bullets shatter the aluminum grating from the north, Barret's shout of warning reminding us that we are indeed, still in a war zone with little time to mourn our losses. The chaos of the guards drowns out the flashes of ammunition being discharged, every second slowing to a crawl with every step gained.

Sparks fly across the marred and battered surface of Rekka spiraling through the air with a shrill warcry of its own. Shrapnel hurls into the air, the railing fracturing as I duck down below the lower platform in an effort to defend myself against the violent barrage of bullets shredding the stairs above me.

The crack of the revolver being discharged, a look of approval from my comrade as the rookie infantryman tumbles over the edge at the force of the shuriken's collision with his shoulder.

"You alright Jessie?"

"I think so. You?" I reach out and grasp my weapon as it spirals through the air, the familiar force carrying me back a balanced step a split second before I lunge forward and release it from my grasp once again, casting it at a row of infantrymen descending upon Barret. Like throwing a fishing line out and reeling it in. One right after the other.

So close to the top. Two platforms yet to traverse. So far, we're holding our own. But I can hear the echo of more chopper blades, reinforcements on their way from both the ground and above. We're trapped, like rats in a twisted metal cage with no way of escape.

"Head's up you two!" Barret calls, an infantryman firing from below. Wedge staggers with a cry of pain, blood seeping from his leg.

"God damn persistent bastards!" He fires two rounds, taking the infantryman and his companion out quickly. "You'd think we were the bad guys or something."

"Tell me about it!" The tingle of Blizzaga radiates up my arm, freezing the wave of reinforcements in their tracks and rendering the stairs below impassable for a few minutes at best.

Was this how Zack felt before he died? Trapped by waves of endless soldiers swarming like angry fire ants until he at last fell in defeat?

No, the watchdog snaps, determination flaring through my soul. I will not fall like he did. No amount of infantrymen will prevent us from achieving our mission.

Marlene. I'm doing this for Marlene. Tifa told me to take care of her while she was away. I cannot let such a horrific fate befall a child. Not while I still draw breath.

And Biggs. I have a promise to honor. His death shall not be in vain.

Neither his, nor Cloud's.

You die with honor, or you don't die at all. Failure is not honor.

Wedge cries out in agony, clutching his chest where the crimson blossoms across his tan shirt beneath his heart. Shit. I throw Rekka at the sniper above us, hurrying to my comrade's side.

I'm not fast enough, the sound of a second bullet from a high powered rifle cleaving into his chest once more.

"Wedge!"

Barret looks down in horror from his spot on the stairs, the blood making the ground slick as our comrade's legs buckle beneath him.

His eyes. Those innocent, gentle eyes. Marred by surprise and terror as he collapses backwards, the bullet-laden railing practically disintegrating as he falls against it.

No! I leap for my comrade, bullets riddling the air. From who, I cannot say. I no longer feel them as they rattle the ground around me, one nipping at my arm and drawing a narrow band of blood across the torn fabric.

The coarse fabric of his shirtsleeve slips through my fingers as he plummets towards the earth below, arms outstretched like an angel taking flight, the ground rimmed in hazy mako fog. And in the blink of an eye, his terrified face is gone, vanished amongst the mists, leaving its impressing embedded in my memory for the remainder of my rapidly decreasing life.

Alone. Forever alone. I flinch at the blood dripping from my arm, grabbing Rekka from the spot where it has landed. It's almost quiet now, the echo of gunfire distant with the rage and fury creeping into my body like a frigid winter blizzard.

Time. My ally, my foe. Barret ceases his fire for a split second, concern upon his face as he looks at me.

We're going to die here. We both know it now.

Stiffness in my stride, I take that first painful step forward, amber eyes trained upon the being in the distance.

He's standing atop the last of the narrow stairs before the main control platform, EMR tapping against his shoulder with that arrogant sense of confidence I was once so fond of sharing the privilege of fighting alongside. Midnight blue blazer unbuttoned to expose the creamy white shirt untucked beneath and long red ponytail swaying with the breeze created by the helicopter hovering in the distance. Emerald eyes ablaze with sinister intent, the light of the mako searchlights casting an evil glow across his face.

"Barret-" Rekka feels heavy in my hand, the words forced and harboring their own sense of dread and feral intent. "You go on ahead. There's something I must do."

Judgment day has arrived.


	52. Falling Stars

**Wow. I don't believe the Muse has ever seen so many people leave reviews like that in a long time. Thank you very kindly readers for making the Muse's week. : ) Hopefully, (and I really do hope) this chapter will live up to the hype ya'll had for it and not be disappointing. Enjoy folks! **

**Chapter Fifty Two - Falling Stars**

Blood.

There is so much blood. Gray checkered grating hovering more than forty seven meters above the ground, stained with the thick congealed liquid seeping from the bodies of the fallen infantry snipers beneath the soles of our feet like a thickened sheet of fresh rainwater across pavement as we move in the first motions of the impending dance of death.

A tango. It's more like a morbid, flamboyantly devastating tango, between two proud watchdogs who have crossed paths on less than neutral territory.

The EMR emits a flash against the backdrop of soupy green light rising around the mighty pillar with the tumultuous rumbles of thunder cast by the chopper blades. An impending thunderstorm of wit and despair, readying itself to unleash its final fury across the land, to hell with anyone in its path.

Rekka's frigid grooved steel singes the exposed flesh of my fingers, the faint ripple of Blizzaga's cold fire burning within my heart with its trek across the conformed mingling of crimson and silver. An extension of myself, never moreso than this moment, this time, this second.

_Survive…_

My fearful amber eyes meet his sorrowful emerald ones, hostility and a sense of feral dread beyond my own understanding scouring my soul to the core, fueling the need to finish this fight with nothing less than victory as I skirt past one of the fallen bodies, electricity hovering in the air where the EMR glides by to connect with the cracked railing in an explosion of cerulean fire.

He's faster than I remember him being, a certain elegance in the way his legs cover the ground with destructive rage, his body twisting backwards with a halfhearted shout of frustration at missing the intended target.

There is hesitation in his movements, uncertainty rigid in the way the battle plays out in his mind. I've encountered that look before, back when I was one of that pack. A look of power, pride, arrogant confidence, reduced to a sense of quiet sympathy over the person he now faces. Almost as if, he recognizes me, and does not want to carry out this battle to the end.

Rekka sweeps across my field of vision in a defensive arc, severing the forked lightning of the second strike of the EMR, allowing me precious few seconds to leap over yet another prone body drenched in crimson liquid. Distance. I need to get out of range of that weapon.

Reno. Oh Reno. Why are you here, on this pillar support? W-why are you doing something like this?

No, my inner watchdog cowers slightly, my hand snatching my shuriken from the air with instinctive grace as I whip around to face my opponent, the railing to my back like a protective wall. Today, this man is no longer a comrade, but my worst enemy.

The wind from the Blackhawk's blades streams across the platform, casting a faint dusting of oily residue atop the bloody surface. A line drawn by Fate's own cruel hand to remind us what we have become.

_"You might have to fight your fellow Turk in a battle at some point."_

Terrifying monsters of brutal beauty and strength, both raised and trained by the same master - to kill our target against all odds.

Only, I have broken free, tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. A world beyond walls of steel and brutal iron fisted rule. No words need spoken between us. We've said everything that needed said when our eyes met through the awkward movements of hunched shoulders and stalking hesitation in each other's strides, never daring to offer the challenge directly. He knows I am one of the links in the AVALANCHE chain of command. And he knows he needs to kill me to complete his mission.

"Cissnei…"

My name. A foreign word spoken by someone who I once knew, but is now the stranger to me. I sidestep the EMR once more, the wind at my back, and the hail of bullets from Barret's gunarm piercing the air upon the frozen stairwell where the infantrymen lie in wait for the perfect moment to strike.

"Reno." The words catch in the back of my throat in a low, barely audible whisper. I do not want to do this. I really don't. "I'm so sorry."

Rekka glides out of my open hand, the world spinning wildly in a fiery arc of frozen water that sticks to his blazer and freezes the blood into a slick gel. He throws an arm up to defend himself, the force of the spell knocking him backwards and sending a shockwave through the aluminum structure.

Stand my ground. I must stand my ground this time.

This is _my_ territory, my _obligation_ to defend my pack's territory. Barret is counting on me right now, not Tseng. I have no master commanding my actions.

I was raised to be a defender, and defend I shall.

White. A curtain of falling snow against the soupy green fog quickly turning to ashes. I hear Barret somewhere up the stairs near the control panels, struggling to aim for the enemy through the chaos I've managed to cause, his vehement words lost to the drone of the Blackhawk's blades.

Please don't get killed. You have a little girl waiting for you back home. She needs her father.

Rekka. I can hear it, somewhere out there, rebounding against the pillar and steel beams above us.

Reno is quicker, his feet digging into the slush caused by Blizzaga, lanky legs propelling him forward with a growl of forced rage. His crimson hair streams behind him like that of a wild beast, that same look of unenthusiastic sympathy in those narrow emerald eyes.

I move to run to the outer fringe of the battleground.

What in the hell? The ground shifts beneath my feet with the vibration of the helicopters passing over the topmost platform, blood staining my knees as I slip, my arms reaching for the railing in frantic attempt to prevent myself from slipping completely under the bar to plunge to the unforgiving ground below. No. Not now. Not in the middle of battle.

This isn't good. I got careless, confidently blinded by my own stubborn pride. My arm twinges with discomfort, legs frantically searching for a foothold to prevent myself from slipping further towards the abysmal earth below.

This platform seems a lot higher than forty seven meters all of a sudden, the dizzying drop making my stomach lurch. I think I'm going to be sick.

God Wedge. I hope that bullet killed you before you struck the ground. Please don't have suffered.

The slight click of leather soled shoes against the aluminum grates. A soft creak of leather half gloved fingers curling tighter around the handle of the Electro Magnetic Rod. His breath lingers upon the frozen air with a slightly labored feel about it. Hesitation. Fear.

"I didn't want to have to do this," the words are spoken softly, caught somewhere in a mingling of wannabe soulless and regret for someone of Reno's caliber of persona. A Turk. He is a Turk right now. And I am the enemy.

Trapped. Helpless. That frigid sense of impending dread creeps into my soul, his eyes narrowing with a sharp breath of courage. "Forgive me Cissnei. Please, forgive me."

Forgive him? For what-

A wretched scream of agony tears free of my throat, the rounded surface of the railing turning molten beneath my arm in less than an instant. Muscles flare in response, convulsions wracking them to the bone and curling my fingers around its surface with violent force against my frantic attempts to break free of the inferno.

Electricity. The Electro Magnetic Rod's fierce some power, once used to defend me as my secondary shield in battle, now turned upon me in frightening waves of fiery lightning.

I continue to scream in terror and pain, the fiery metal burning the undersides of my arm and fingers, preventing me from even attempting to escape its grasp. I-I can't let go of this bar. The fiery grasp is too strong, pulling, forcefully clasping my fingers around the scalding metal and drawing me into its horrific embrace. Someone! Barret! Help!

Fire pours through my veins as the split seconds tick by, each longer than the last. Ripping, tearing at ever nerve with venomous claws. I can't move. Can't breathe. Shit. I'm trapped. No. Please. Reno. Please stop.

I struggle to see my assailant through the waves of darkness lashing my being, heart pounding in my chest, the blood feeling sluggish and panicked as the throbbing of the world around me thunders in my skull.

Reno. Please! For the love of Holy! Stop!

Abruptly, the world rushes into focus, the fire releasing its grip with the cry of surprise further behind me, Reno's stunned form crashing into the steel grating with a streak of blood pouring from his back.

I collapse against the frigid ground, struggling to catch my breath and quell the scalding sensation assaulting every muscle in my body with jerking motions. The EMR. I have to get away from the EMR before he does worse to me.

Everything hurts. My trembling hand reaches across the frigid surface, weakened arms struggling to support my weight as I attempt to sit up, the world spinning wildly. Oh god that hurts.

My throwing arm. I brush my trembling fingers over the seared flesh beneath the scorched fabric of my shirt. Shit. I'm hurt worse than I thought. The scent of burnt flesh. I-I can barely move it.

Rekka. My amber eyes catch sight of the flame haired menace struggling to release the fabric of his blazer and a small portion of his flesh from my shuriken's vicious grasp. That weapon saved my life.

My legs tremble as I stagger halfway to my feet, only to collapse against the railing as the world shifts violently in my vision. He's recovering too fast, the EMR in hand, whirring to its full potential and a look caught somewhere between rage and warranted dread as he looks towards me. Holy. He didn't even have that thing on full power…

You won't get another chance, the wounded watchdog whimpers, terrified of the electricity produced by that rod. Next time he _will_ kill you, slowly, painfully. You'll literally get burned alive from the inside out, begging for death.

_"Don't let them kill you."_

The fingers of my uninjured hand wrap around the .45, drawing it from its spot upon my belt. Biggs…I think I'll take your advice for once. I only hope the electricity didn't damage it too horribly.

Crusted blood flakes beneath my cracked fingernails as I draw the tiny, powerful weapon level with my former comrade.

Terror. It's there, in his softer, emerald eyes. He's frightened of me, of what I am capable of doing to him. And with good reason. This weapon is stronger than even that EMR in his sturdy, unfaltering hand. With one brief movement of my finger, I can end this battle. Sector Seven will be not be brought down today. AVALANCHE's fallen will have been avenged.

The .45 quivers in my trembling grasp. Reno. Flamboyant, arrogant, comical Reno. The man who showed a soft side to me when I needed it the most and was a pain in the ass for most of the time that I worked with him.

I-I can't do this.

My breath catches in my throat, knives shredding my chest with the blunt force that strikes me from the lower left of the platform.

"Cissnei!"

His eyes are wide with shock, a shriek of anger ripping from his throat as he tears his blazer to break free of Rekka's grasp, rushing towards me as my knees fold into the blood stained ground beneath me, the roar of the wind tossed choppers rising with my thundering pulse.

Gunshots blaze through the air. Round after round of the .45 exploding from my crimson haired comrade's hand. Funny. I don't feel the shots piercing my flesh.

"God damn Shinra infantry. Always stepping on our toes when we don't need them to!" Venom laces the words with bitter, somewhat subdued anger, the gun clattering to the ground. He's killed him. And the others.

"Reno-" I gasp, feeling the hot liquid pouring down the front of my shirt. I-I've been shot. A sniper, from the platform below.

"Shh." He retrieves his handkerchief from his pocket and presses his hand against the wound, the red overpowering the white in seconds. Ow. That hurts Reno.

As though sensing my discomfort, the bastard presses harder on the wound.

"Lie down. Now."

It hurts to breathe, every labored effort making my heart race and the world creep further into the darkness, the chill aluminum floor feeling oddly comfortable despite the circumstances. They got me good. Just like the others.

"It's not lethal," he quips, a light sense of nervousness in his words. Not lethal? Sure as hell feels like it. "Thank god you're so damn short."

Short. Yeah. The world drifts further away, a sting of pain radiating through my arm where the burn is.

"Stay awake yo."

Awake? How in the hell am I supposed to do that? It hurts too damn much to stay awake.

You're being unreasonable, the watchdog snaps, her spirit padding around my soul like a frantic worried entity of her own. I'm not sure if it is Jessie, or Cissnei right now scolding me for wanting to sleep at a time like this.

"I didn't want to believe it ya know," he grits his teeth, reaching for something upon his belt that I cannot see. "Seeing _you_, here. With them. Kind of ironic isn't it?"

"Reno-" I struggle to form the words despite the pain washing through my chest, a sickening metallic taste creeping into the back of my throat, choking me. "Please don't-"

Sector Seven. Please don't destroy it. Walk away Reno. Walk away from it all. Don't blow up the pillar. Marlene. Marlene is counting on us. I promised we'd come back to her. I promised damn it.

His gaze softens with a hint of remorse.

"I have to do this 'Nei."

No. No you don't. You don't have to murder these people Reno. There are better ways of dealing with it. Better ways.

"I-I won't let you do it." I struggle to push his hand aside from the wound. Barret. Barret is still up there, firing at random in vain attempt to keep the wolves at bay. "You can't Reno. You can't do this."

"Shh. Calm down." His voice is soft, attempting to keep me calm. "You'll make this worse than it already is."

Worse? It can get worse than this? Holy, the only thing worse is letting that pillar fall onto a bunch of innocent people!

"Reno," I'm reduced to begging now, pleading for the lives of those I have spent time with over the past few months. People he doesn't understand. People he cannot understand. "Listen to me, please-"

The blood escapes from his handkerchief forcing a soft curse out of him as he struggles to gain control of it again.

"Damn it Cissnei." He presses down on the wound once more, a worried look towards Barret who is making his way towards us with a look of absolute hatred. "Will you stop trying to fight me and just work with me for a few minutes. I don't want to kill you too."

You don't want…to kill me? Even though I'm your enemy now? One of them?

"Don't you dare die yo." His voice cracks, uncertain and struggling to keep an upbeat tone about it as he glances at Barret with a look of challenge. Oh Reno. Don't you even try it. He won't show any mercy towards you. "I'm gonna come back for ya, alright."

"No-" A part of me knows that there is no way in hell someone like him would come back for his enemy. Not under these circumstances. Not on a mission like this. Once that pillar goes, it will be over, for all of us.

Reeve. Where is Reeve during all of this? Shouldn't he be doing something about stopping the destruction of his beloved city? Did they kill him too? They would have had to. You don't just blow up a part of Tuesti's project without him throwing his protractor at whomever suggested it. Hope he threw the compass too.

My former comrade gives an odd half smile and shakes his head, reaching for the EMR with one hand and keeping the handkerchief against my wound with the other.

"You're too damn stubborn to die yo." Gunshots strike the railing above him, forcing him to grit his teeth with that Turk sense of instinct. "Stay that way."

He grabs my hand and places it over the wound forcefully, keeping a wary eye upon Barret and adjusting the EMR to full power.

"Hang in there Cissnei." A dry chuckle escapes his throat despite the seriousness of his words, his eyes hidden from view by his hair. "If you see that big old flashlight in the sky, stay the hell away from it. It's annoying as hell to get people away from once they get close to it. And if ya see a real tall dude with a scythe, kick him in the crotch and run like hell the other way. Got that? Good. I promise I'll be back for you. Promise. You just try not to die on me."

The sound of him rising to his feet and swinging his weapon through the air to test his reflexes and show some form of a threat to the man whose cause I embraced and fought for. He really intends on doing this.

"Reno," I whisper, earning his attention once again, this time genuinely worried. "Be careful. Okay?"

He shakes his head and smiles, trying to look confident despite the gunshots deafening the air.

"Heh, you know me. I'm always careful."

Yeah, right. Just try not to get shot, okay. Barret's tougher than the rest of us. Someone fighting for what he is fighting for is almost beyond mortal.

And, just like that, he is running across the platform, his shouts of confident taunting rivaling the garbled bellowing of the top dog of AVALANCHE. The last link of AVALANCHE.

Don't break because of Reno. Fight Barret. Show him who we were. Show him we can still growl with the best of them.

I'm tired, the echo of thunderous footsteps coupled with the pinging of gunshots like a fine storm of hail droning on into the darkness. It's hard, trying to focus on that eerie green ceiling up there when it is so dark. I wish I could see the battle. It sounds like Reno's losing.

The way he moves through the air, like a frustrated wolf stalking a furious grizzly. Yes. That's it. A battle of brawn. Something Reno seriously lacks.

Time. How much time has passed? I flinch, trying to see the top of the platform. Seconds? Minutes maybe? I don't remember the battle moving so far away like that, to the opposite side of the platform. When did that happen?

I-I don't remember any of that. Just Reno running into battle. Is he winning? What's going on up there? Everything's so, distant all of a sudden, a bit slower even.

"God almighty-"

Voices. I flinch, struggling to keep my eyes open against the suffocating darkness oozing in from the sides like a vortex - a dark, cold vortex. I know those voices. I've heard them before. Somewhere.

Why can't I remember them clearly? I don't remember ever being this tired in my lifetime.

The blood sticks to my fingers from the wound, coating each one in sickening, warm reality. Blood? My blood. Damn. I'm still bleeding.

Just like Biggs…Wedge. I-I'm going to die here like they did. Please no. Not yet. I-I'm not ready to die yet.

Footsteps. Alarmed as they practically gallop up the flight of rattling steps amid the gunshots pittering farther into the distance. They sound scared, just by the way they take two at a time.

Please. I look towards the darkness in desperate pleading. Please Death. Wait…Just a little longer. A few more seconds. You can do that, can't you? Don't take me yet.

I'm not asking to be spared. Just a few seconds longer. I don't want much. Just enough -

"Jessie!"

Zack? Everything's so blurry. I could have sworn I heard him, out there, in the shifting fog of mako lights and dust materializing into the dark robed one Reno warned me to run from. Death. He's approaching, a glint of steel from his side. Please. Not yet. I-I'm not ready to go…yet.

I heard…Zack. But, why did he call me Jessie? I'm Cissnei. He wouldn't know…my real name…

"Oh god Jessie." The scrambling of knees striking the blood stained aluminum, a shadow being thrown against the eerie green light across my diminishing vision. The scythe. He's going to end this. A tear creeps from my eyes, tracing a lonely trail down the side of my cheek to mingle with the thin trail of blood seeping from the corner of my lips. Please. Please don't take me yet. I-I don't want to die yet.

I know you, from somewhere.

We met before. Zack. You look so much like him. Those eyes. The sky. They look like the sky. Not Midgar's sky. But somewhere beyond. Is that what Heaven's like? So clear, so innocent, soft and gentle.

Your hands, soft and quivering in the darkness, brushing the matted auburn hair from my weary eyes so I can see you better. Almost as if-as if you care about how you take me from this world. Quiet. It's so quiet. Why don't I hear the helicopters and gunfire? What's going on?

Your eyes. I can't stop looking at them. They're so beautiful. I've never seen eyes like that before. Not even Zack's were as bright as yours.

Your fingers trail against the side of my face, brushing away the tears.

I-I don't feel anything. I can't feel your touch against my bruised skin. W-why? Why can't I feel your cold touch? Aren't you supposed to be cold? Like the rumors? You're nothing like the rumors. Death, I never knew you would look like him in a way. So human-like and not as well, death-like as the stories.

"Oh Jessie. What happened to you?"

Your voice. Why are you so sad? Shouldn't you be happy to finally have caught me? I ran from you long enough to frustrate the hell out of you I'm sure. You're not angry with me for it?

"Jessie." The words are soft in their own morbid way, a sickening gentleness to their every syllable. "Come on. Say something to me. Please Jessie."

You want me to say something, to you. I-I don't know what to say to you. You, you look like Zack.

No. Not Zack. Zack's hair is not blond, like yours. Cloud? Yes. You look like Cloud. Those captivating eyes, so caring and worried.

"Cloud?" My words. They're difficult to understand. I'm not even sure if he understands them. He doesn't have to, does he? I get to talk to him until it's time to go right? This is it, the final few seconds I asked for. Right?

He nods, as though acknowledging my unspoken request. Must be able to read my mind somehow. Spooky stuff.

"Yes Jessie," the words tremble with their own sense of worry, a second set of footsteps filing in behind him with a gasp of horror. "I'm here."

"I'm glad…" Truly, I am happy Cloud. That it is you, not Zack standing over me right now, watching, waiting for me to - die. "I-I'm glad I got to see you…one last time…"

Something, a longing urgency in my flickering spirit wants him to understand my words. To know that I mean it this time. That I don't want it to end this way.

"Don't say last." His reply is sharp, reprimanding as though I've said something forbidden by the unwritten standards of life. I was not aware I couldn't say certain things on my deathbed. "You are not going to die."

I'm hurt, badly. A direct shot to the chest by a high powered rifle wielded by the same MP brigade snipers that killed Zack. Don't lie to me, please. Do not try to tell me, that it will be _okay_, when I know, I know the truth.

Biggs…Wedge…We're all sinners in this world. What we've done to so many people. I deserve to die this way, like a dog. Just like a dog.

"This…is my punishment…for what we…have done."

Everything goes dark for a split second, the scrambling sound of movement over rusted aluminum fracturing the air.

"Jessie!"

He's screaming at me, the words I can barely hear over the sudden flow of noise descending around the pillar. It sounds like a million rusty nails being dropped against a backdrop of static. Like those old PHS systems with the antennas we used to use. God I hated those things. You never knew what the other person was trying to say half the time.

"Jessie! Come on." He pleads, that once strong voice faltering as his arms encircle me, drawing me off of the cold, rusty aluminum grating, closer to his body. That warm, strong body. A sharp twinge of pain registers from the back of my mind allowing me to whimper in response.

The only thing that lets me know, that I am still here, struggling to breathe - to survive.

"Please-" He smells like daffodils. Gentle, soft petal daffodils. Like the kind Aerith grows in her church. Zack's favorite flower. "Please don't die."

He's - crying? Over me?

Tifa. My faltering vision catches sight of the raven haired woman through the darkness, tears of her own sparkling in the dying light. Tell him not to cry over me.

Please. Tell him. T-tell him I'm not worth it. Tell him who I really am. What I used to do for a living. Tell him…

"Barret." I manage to rasp, only half of the words audible to the last hope of Sector Seven. "Help him."

He needs your help. Even if you are, Death, please, spare Barret and his daughter. I'll go, willingly, just spare them.

Let me die, alone. My final wish. I don't want him to see my final, weak instinctive struggles in this life.

His lips move, saying something I cannot hear. An apology. It's an apology. He's upset this happened, that I'm dying. Tifa. Tifa's trying to comfort him, to tell him that this is not his fault.

The darkness rushes in once more, wrapping around my body and crushing my mind in its claws. The sharp sting of radiating pain stabs again from the wounds, making me gasp in shock. Gods, I wish this whole death thing would make up its mind already. I feel nothing for a while, and then out of nowhere, waves of sharp, stabbing pain.

He gently lays me back down against the grating with trembling hands, those beautiful eyes drowning me with their mystique of the beyond. So radiant. I wish I could stare at them forever, but he vanishes, as though he was never there to begin with. A product of my dying imagination in these last few seconds.

Falling stars. I can see them, against the sky. Fiery, magnificent as they fall across the darkness with the roar of thunderous triumph from somewhere beyond this world.


	53. Echoes

**Well folks, this is it, the last chapter of this fic before the much requested sequel is written. (After the Muse takes a well deserved mini mental vacation for a short period of time to unwind and celebrate the completion of such a long fic. That, and she owes the Missions people some missions…:Hides from pitchforks:) I want to say thank you again to all of you, the readers, for showing interest in this fic and for supporting it with your kind critiques and enthusiasm for it. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. (Hopefully, my formatting decided to work out the way I wanted it to. If not, I apologize in advance.)**

**Chapter Fifty Three - Echoes**

The sky is crying. Tears, hundreds of thousands of tears, falling in somber procession across the worn, rust dusted steps leading towards the sickening olive metal building rising against the shifting curtain of brilliant majestic green in the distance.

Where _am_ I?

Like fireflies. It looks like someone took a handful of fireflies and just let them loose here. I can hear their tiny wings beating against the thick, stagnant air, trying to fly away, but trapped in that ocean of shifting green out there. A low humming sound, like those weird generators, or are they voices? Hundreds of trillions of voices, all trying to speak at the same time over one another.

The water seeps into the coarse fabric of my blazer, tingeing the skin beneath with a frightening chill despite the rather humid, stuffy air. What's going on? Why am I dressed like a Turk? I'm not a Turk anymore. At least, I don't think I am. I honestly can't remember.

AVALANCHE. Yes. I was with AVALANCHE. Right? That terrorist organization in Sector Seven.

Sector Seven…Why does that sound like it's important to me?

Scalding pain radiates along my arm and wells behind my ribs as I sit up, grasping the first of the stairs for balance, the world spinning wildly for several seconds before settling into a slightly blurred undertone across my vision. Ow. That didn't feel very good.

I was hurt. I can remember that much. Someone hurt me. But, why aren't I bleeding anymore? I was bleeding badly. I felt it.

What _happened_ to me?

It's too bright, as though someone poured all of the mako there is across this place and lit it on fire. I've never seen anything like this, not even in the reactors. Never this bright. It almost burns the eyes to even attempt to look around. Kind of reminds me of one of those freaky lava lamps Reno used to keep in his dorm - only this one is a heck of a lot more advanced and harsher on the eyes.

But that building. I can see that building clearer than anything, even through the rain plastering my auburn hair against my pale skin. That's odd. It looks like the Shinra building in some weird, demented way.

The plate. Sector Seven.

Something is terribly wrong here. I don't work for Shinra anymore. I-I shouldn't be here.

The light flares, making me cower. Something tells me it's a bad idea to try to go down towards Sector Seven from here. It's too dark down that way. Dark? Wait a second. That's really odd. The skyline looks almost textured, like a slab of concrete or something close. In the blink of an eye, the ocean of green converges upon it as though it never existed, washing it from view.

I'm confused. That looked like broken concrete, but that can't be right. A twisted briar patch of metal and concrete couldn't be in the sky. And it's hotter in this area, the air almost completely stagnant and thick with a grainy substance I don't quite recognize. But it's there. I can feel it every time I move my fingertips.

Forward. I think I'll try going forward first. That's always the safest bet. Maybe I can find someone who can tell me where I am and how I managed to get here. I don't even have a train ticket stub telling me what station I arrived from, or how I ended up lying in a rain puddle on Shinra's doorstep.

That's odd. My leg moves through the air to carry me up the stairs, shifting uncomfortably with a slightly disjointed motion between the command to move and the actual movement. Walking seems to be a little shaky here.

It's almost like drifting, that feeling of lacking stability with every step I try to take. Almost like treading, or trying to tread water in a way. But that can't be right. It can't possibly rain underwater. Nor was I anywhere near any deep water where I might have fallen into it by accident and am now trying to climb out of it.

Am I even _in _Midgar anymore?

God that buzzing is loud. But I don't see anyone else here with me. Just, lots of light. And fireflies.

Even the sky is bright, frozen somewhere in the middle of everything. Time seems to have stopped here. That clock up there hasn't moved since I ended up on Shinra's doorstep, whenever the hell that was. How did I get _here_ anyway?

Finally. These damn stairs are behind me, a light weariness gracing my body as I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. God. It feels like I've run a marathon. Thirteen bloody stairs. I must be out of shape.

The door opens automatically at my approach, forcing me to halt in my tracks. I've never seen the doors do that before. It's almost as though…they're expecting me.

Rekka. Where is my shuriken? I glance around quickly, finding it missing. Fantastic. I get to go into the den of the enemy without a decent weapon. I can't even move fast enough to use any of my martial arts skills either. It's as though someone has literally paralyzed most of my muscles to the point of basic movements only, my weary mind not even able to coordinate, let alone execute, many of those very well either. God, it's one of those nightmares where you're running and can't go anywhere.

_Over here! I think I found someone._

Huh? I thought I heard someone in that jumble of voices. Sounded a little like Rude almost, only, he sounded a little frantic. Must be my imagination. I don't hear it anymore, just that standard buzzing.

There is a flash of light, the room melting into what appears to be the lobby. Crimson carpets adorn the duel spiral staircases and glass elevators are frozen at the first floor, their neon keypads glowing with a sense of hostility amid the scintillating rays of light extending from the mako enhanced lights of the ceiling. This is spooky. Just how I remember it being.

When did I wander in here? I don't recall-

Someone is there, behind the receptionist desk. Their bright green eyes are watching me with a slight sense of amusement, her darker hair cascading along her shoulders like some sort of cloak almost. I've never seen her before. Wait. She almost looks a little like Aerith in a way, but that's just my mind playing tricks on me.

"Jesshera, I presume?" There is no hostility in her tone, only a gentle kindness. She seems to know that I have no idea what in the heck I am doing here and I must look like a confused puppy to her. Confused is really an understatement. I'm just plain lost at this point.

"Y-yes," I struggle to reply, the words grating with a somewhat raspy sense about them. I must have been shouting or something to be this hoarse today.

With a slight tip of her chin and a soft smile, she scratches something down on a pad of paper with a quill pen. They got an eccentric one this time. I have to give them that much. Shinra's never used quills in the time I've worked for them. At least, I don't recall them doing so.

"Your keycard-" she doesn't look up from the piece of paper, only beckoning me closer to her steel and aluminum desk where a small daffodil sits upon the far corner in a foreign clay pot. "Give it to me please."

Keycard? What keycard? I lost that a while ago.

"But I don't have-" The all too familiar, blade-like piece of plastic brushes against my fingertips from my pocket where I usually carry it. Make me a liar now. "A keycard."

Alright, now I'm a little more than slightly alarmed. This is impossible. I lost this in Seventh Heaven, after Cloud died. I deliberately destroyed it because it reminded me of what I did wrong on that mission. But, here it is, as though it was newly issued today.

I turn the tiny card over in my palm, reading the laminated lettering in the cold inky font Shinra is oh so proud of.

'Jesshera Shisune Starling'

Yeah, that's me alright. The picture says that's me at least. When did they take this picture anyway? It's got my scars from the accident. I don't remember getting this taken. I never renewed it.

But this other part is all wrong. My old keycard never had my real name on it, nor that spelling of it. Just Cissnei J. Starling. No one ever told me what the 'J' stood for until I found out on my own curiosity. Nor did they tell me that apparently what I've gone by for years is really my middle name, or a crude translation of it. Tseng would have been still learning the language when he named me I assume. He must have mistranslated it or misspelled it by accident.

_No way. People actually survived this-_

A female voice this time. Sharp, startled by something or rather she must have seen. For a moment, I look at the woman behind the desk, struggling to figure out if she said anything. Apparently not. She's still scrawling something down on that piece of paper of hers. Something I can't read from this angle.

I've heard that person before too. Not very much of her, but enough to know that she sounds a little like Elena. First Rude. Now Elena.

Again, the voice is gone before I can fully search for it, replaced by the fainter sound of scratchy buzzing and heavy atmosphere of this rather dark lobby. I could have sworn it was brighter a few seconds ago.

"Did you hear that?" I venture to ask, still watching the doorway where I could have sworn that voice came from. A distant, very distant part of me wants to listen closer, to hear something like that again. It was almost like an echo of some sort. From a tunnel. But there aren't any tunnels around here.

"I hear a lot of things," the woman replies. "Lots of things. Tell me, what have you heard my dear?"

She retrieves my keycard from the surface of the desk I've set it upon, studying it matter-of-factly and once again writing something down. I'm being watched, from the shadows of pilfered light spilling from the upper stairwell to pool briefly in that right hand corner, by the old exhibit room. Something else is here with us.

_Can you hear me?_

Another echo, spanning time itself this time. Something deep within beckons me to reply that yes, I have indeed heard whomever is talking. That almost sounded like - Tseng? Why would Tseng be here?

It's Shinra you twit, that weary watchdog within snarls in annoyance, as though disturbed from some sort of suspended slumber. Of course Tseng would be around here. The man never leaves this place. But, he sounded so close, as though he was standing right beside me. Funny, I don't see anyone else here.

"Something wrong Child?"

_Come on, please. Say something 'Nei…_

I flinch, a light inkling of pain radiating along my shoulder before quickly vanishing with a fleeting touch of invisible wind. Reno. That was definitely Reno. He sounded a little like someone had run him over with a truck at some point, his words broken and weary.

"Um-" I step closer to the desk, almost defensively, my amber eyes darting around to better grasp my surroundings. Even the few windows are darkened with a veil preventing the eerie green light that was once so vibrant and warm from spilling in like it once was. "Do you know how I got here by any chance?"

A stupid question by all standards, better suited for someone who's been drinking way to much all night. I, however, know I was not drinking, at all. And yet I'm seeing brilliant green light with fireflies embedded in their shifting waves and hearing people that don't exist talking right beside me. Something is going on here that just doesn't _feel_ right.

"Same way they all do," her voice turns sorrowful, the joy gone. "Unfortunate accidents, murders, time catches up to them. Some take it upon themselves to bring themselves here. Any one of a dozen ways I'm afraid."

Accidents? Murders? Am I-

_Hang in there. You're going to be okay. You'll be okay._

Rude again. His thunderous tone almost deafening within these steel enforced walls. Who? Who's going to be okay? What is he talking about?

_This isn't looking good Sir. We're losing her._

A feeling of cold dread washes over me making me hug my blazer closer to my trembling body for warmth. Something is happening. Something horrible.

_No…_

Tseng. There's desperation in those words, as though something is happening beyond his range of control. Who are they talking about? What's happening?

_Come on. Don't do this Cissnei-_

"Ms. Starling?"

_Breathe damn it!_

I turn away from the vacant space to my right where I instinctively sense my fellow Turks engaged in a losing battle, the realization striking like a viper from the encroaching shadows slinking towards me.

_Sir, she's-_

"I'm dead." I barely manage to whisper, trembling at the brilliant green outside of this building flaring with hungry intent. The Lifestream, final resting place of all souls. "Aren't I?"

_Come on 'Nei. Don't do this to us!_

The woman behind the desk stares for several seconds, a look in her eyes that reminds me a little of Reno when he first saw me fall to that sniper rifle. Sympathy, and, a hint of sadness.

_Try it again Reno…_

"That depends on how one chooses to look at it." She points to the vacant spot where the voices are fading with a long slender set of fingers, a seashell bracelet clicking with the motion. "You are standing here are you not?"

_I'm trying damn it! She's not responding…_

Here. As in, the Lifesteam?

_It's not helping…_

"I'm in the Lifestream…" It's not much of a question, moreso a quiet reality I'm trying to convince myself of. Everything's so jumbled, the buzzing of voices louder, drowning out what I've heard of my life thus far.

_One more time. Try one more time._

"One could say that." She quips, as though being dead is commonplace and not a big deal at the moment. Maybe not to her. She's apparently been doing this sort of thing for a long time by the casual nature about her. I've never been dead before!

_But sir, she's not-_

"So, what happens to me now?" Am I stuck here, in this building forever? Do I get to be broken down until I become one of those firefly things out there in the green ocean to be sucked up and processed into fuel eventually? Or does something even worse happen to me from this point onward?

_That's an order, not a suggestion._

Shinra. I can't even escape this place in death. God, this is hell. Trapped by the people I've been running from, for an eternity. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

She sets her quill aside and folds her hands in front of her with a gentle, almost curious look in her eyes.

"Child, what are you afraid of? You have done nothing to warrant being judged as evil."

You have the keycard in front of you lady. You tell me what I might be afraid of for a change. Take a look at that logo and you'll see why I'm so damn frightened of this place. I've obviously done something terribly wrong at some, make that all points of my miserable life. I don't even want to think of what the punishment might be for a Turk turned terrorist, turned Turk again.

_Alright boss. No promises though._

Something tells me it is not going to be good.

"It is not for me to decide what becomes of you dear," she continues, trying to comfort me and put those fears to rest. "But you do not need to be afraid of it."

How can I not be afraid at this point? She doesn't know what this Lifestream is going to do to me. No one does. For all I know, it could throw me to someplace well beyond here, with fire, brimstone and a hell of a lot of pain agony and gnashing of teeth.

_'Nei, listen, wherever you are yo, ya gotta come back to us…_

Come back? There is a violent flash, the building trembling with an explosion of light. I reach a hand out to steady myself, glaring at the door. What in the hell was that?

"Fear too, shall fade with time Child. The world of the living is separate from here. What was done there, is left there and forgotten with time."

_Still nothing._

Lose my memories…I'll forget everything that has ever happened to me? Everything?

_Not what I want to hear right now Rude._

Cloud. I don't want to forget Cloud. Or Zack. Or even Reno. And Tseng.

_Reno-_

I-I don't want those voices to leave me.

_Please…Come back to us 'Nei…_

There is a flash, the light engulfing me despite my best efforts to claw my way out of its fiery grasp. Pain. Fiery, damning pain, filling my vision and slashing at my soul, wreathing the room in scalding waves of mako light.

"Do not fight it Child-" I can't hear her over the roaring thunder of water pouring over me from every direction, the building vanishing into the ocean of tumultuous green water surging ever which way, tearing my weakened body into its grasp.

I'm drowning! Every crashing wave of watery light flooding my lungs as I struggle to scream, to cry for help, to reach that hauntingly beautiful surface lingering just out of reach. I-I'm scared. Please. Please end this now. I can't swim very well! I don't want to die like this!

A calloused hand plunges into the water, grasping my outstretched hand, the thickened water falling around me with the crash of broken glass as the frigid air caresses my face and invades my lungs with each painful breath I struggle to draw. God, I can't breathe very well. Everything hurts.

_That's it Cissnei. Come on. Breathe._

A flicker of light through the crashing waves threatening to overpower me again and draw me into their clutches. The strong hand holds firm, drawing me onto solid land. Who are you? I struggle to blink the brilliant stinging water from my eyes, finding only pale, fiery light in front of me.

Zack…

My amber eyes manage to only get halfway open to see who pulled me out of the eerie substance, the fiery light stinging with vicious anger. I can barely see anything through this fog of grayish white light surrounding me with the inky painted skies of blue stretching through it like a mosaic canvas. Wings. I can see a few feathers of a pair of wings. Long, elegant, cream colored wings.

They're so beautiful. So warm and soft beneath my touch as I reach a quivering hand out to lightly brush them with my fingertips. An angel's wings. These wings belong to an angel.

An angel I cannot see the face of.

_Cissnei…_

The roaring fills the air again, this time louder than ever, the air shifting and carrying the sight of the beautiful wings out of view, replacing it with a peaceful, silent darkness. I know that voice. He sounded so familiar. Like Zack. Just like Zack. Or was it Cloud? I didn't catch a look at which one it was this time.

"Do you think she's gonna be okay boss?"

Someone's talking. Another one of those echoes? I look towards the source of the voices, finding only the encroaching darkness flooding my vision. I-I can't move. Everything is frozen, restrained by a force I cannot fight free of.

"I don't know Reno. They've done all they can for her. The rest is up to her."

Wait, voices. Human voices. Vague, but I think I hear words. Not very clearly, but yes, words.

I can sense them standing nearby, the soft click of leather against linoleum reaching through the cloak of darkness. My one time fellow Turks. I recognize their weary voices.

Light flashes across my vision with a wave of excruciating pain that stiffens my muscles and grinds my fingers deeper into the surface I'm lying upon. It's stiff, yet soft. A bed of some sort? Gods I wish I could cry out in pain, to let them know I hurt.

That I am _alive_.

I can't even make my body move, managing only a soft whimper I know they cannot hear.

Everything is bright and smudged in those split seconds, whitewashed in dreary mako light, the sharp scent of bitter antiseptic fresh in the air with the shrill, constant beep and hiss of machinery I've never heard before. My arm hurts, that chilled feeling of an IV needle stabbed into the vein working its way to the surface of my mind, the first of the few shapes standing over me slowly coming into hazy view before fleeing just as quickly back into the comfortable darkness.

I'm still alive...


End file.
